


The Richest Square Mile on Earth

by IdaArmindaMoss



Series: Let Him That Stole Steal No More [3]
Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Christian content, Gen, Religious Discussion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdaArmindaMoss/pseuds/IdaArmindaMoss
Summary: Heyes and Curry travel to Estes Park, stopping to visit the McCreedy ranch on the way out of Texas.  An encounter with a Highlander's second sight in Colorado leads to more excitement than they had bargained for.  Then a hard-rock mining job in Central City turns deadly.  Might that be one of the reasons which drove them to leave for Idaho Springs while the roads were still dangerous from spring snowfall?





	1. Patrick J. McCreedy Is Surprised

**Author's Note:**

> A major edit was made in April 2020, affecting the last two chapters and necessitating the addition of a ninth chapter; however, if you have already read this story, you will not be missing much if you do not re-read it after the edits, except that there are now hyperlinks to listen to the songs. Some material has been slightly re-arranged.
> 
> English spelling and hyphenation conventions follow those in use at the time of the story, as far as possible. Many features which we now think of as typically American did not actually come into common use until after the presidency of Theodore Roosevelt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the McCreedy Ranch produces a poker game and some other surprises.

**Socorro, Texas, Sunday, February 6th, 1881**

Hannibal Heyes, accompanied by his partner Kid Curry and Miss Paula Wellington, whom he could have described as his fiancée were it not for the fact that they were only promised rather than being formally betrothed, rode down the main street of the little town of Socorro, Texas.[1] At one time, the town had been on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande, but when the river changed course, as Ernesto Armendáriz had described to Heyes and Curry on the occasion of their second visit to his _rancho_ , it had been left on the American side.

Heyes looked about him with interest. They had been riding through grazing land belonging to Big Mac McCreedy since the middle of the previous day, but had never approached the headquarters of the McCreedy Ranch, located just outside the town of Red Rock to the north, from this direction before, so he and Curry had never been through Socorro, though Armendáriz had told them of it. They were aware that Big Mac McCreedy and his wife Carlota had, since their marriage, formed the habit of attending the Indian mission in the town—the closest place to the McCreedy Ranch for them to attend Catholic services. 

As it was Sunday, just a little before noon, Heyes wondered if they ought to stop at the church to see if the couple was there or was expected. He had just finished explaining this to Kid and Paula when the bell over the main entrance to the little church began to ring. 

La Purísima Concepción del Socorro 

“That will be the bell for Mass,” said Paula. “I suppose it makes sense that they would celebrate it at noon. People must come here from all over the area—not just your friends the McCreedys, but families from Mexico, and possibly other Anglo families as well.” Rather wistfully, she refrained from asking Heyes if they could stop and attend, knowing he and Kid would not be able to follow the Latin used in the service and that none of them would be able to receive Communion, not being Catholic. 

Suddenly the matter was decided for her. Kid exclaimed and pointed to an elegant buggy just drawing up near the church, from which Patrick J. McCreedy himself, in all his considerable bulk, was just preparing to descend. 

Heyes and Kid swung down and helped the two women in the buggy, whom they had recognized as Carlota Armendáriz and Teresa, her personal maid, to alight. Shaking hands with McCreedy, Heyes brought Paula into the conversation with a gesture. “Paula, this is Patrick McCreedy. Mac—my fiancée, Miss Wellington.”

Managing to conceal his astonishment at this announcement, and bowing with a portly grace over Miss Wellington’s hand, McCreedy turned to his wife. “Carlota, may I present Miss Paula Wellington, who, I’m delighted to learn, is going to marry my young friend Joshua Smith. You remember Joshua and Thaddeus, my dear.”

“Of course,” the lady responded graciously. She found that Mr. Smith’s young woman was acknowledging the introduction with a very slight curtsey, an unexpected but welcome formality in this regrettably informal part of America.

“ _Es un gusto conocerle, Señora_.”

Pleased at the use of her own tongue, Carlota curtseyed in return. “ _Señorita, el gusto es mío_.” She quickly performed the introduction between Miss Wellington and Teresa, then turned with a smile to Heyes. “Mr. Smith, I fear if we stand here much longer and talk, my husband and I will be late to the Mass. Would you care to accompany us, you and your lady and Mr. Jones? We can continue the conversation afterwards.”

Still trying to think of a polite way to refuse, Heyes was startled to hear his partner thanking Mrs. McCreedy for the invitation and accepting it for all of them. Shrugging inwardly, Heyes helped to tie the horses to the hitch rail, offered his arm to Paula, removed his hat, and entered the dim interior of the church in the wake of Kid and the McCreedy party.

Following the celebration of Mass, everyone poured out into the small plaza attached to the church, where it was the custom of the congregation to set out tables and benches so that everyone could enjoy a light _merienda_ before starting on the drive home. The tiny town boasted no eating place except a small _cantina_ , unfit for ladies to enter, so most families brought food with them to share after the service. Carlota McCreedy extended an invitation to Miss Wellington and her escort to join them. Heyes and Curry contributed some of their own supplies, and the party sat down together to eat.

“What are you doing in this part of Texas, besides getting betrothed?” asked McCreedy.

“Well, Joshua’s the only one doing that right now,” replied Kid, “but we took a job, last fall, escorting Miss Wellington and her brother down to Laredo from Denver with some valuables. Since the end of November, we’ve been working with the Texas Ranger detachment in Laredo.” He delivered this announcement coolly, without any inflection, and observed with amusement its effect on McCreedy, who was well aware that they were wanted in Wyoming for bank and train robbery.

Heyes met McCreedy’s inquiring stare with a cheerful smile. “That’s right. Mr. Wellington introduced us to Captain Parmalee, the commandant of Company B, who gave us temporary jobs. Of course, he checked our references first —wired to our friend Sheriff Trevors in Wyoming.” He waited to see what impact this news would have. They had never had occasion to tell McCreedy about Governor Hoyt’s offer of an amnesty, so the introduction of a Wyoming sheriff into the conversation was bound to puzzle McCreedy further.

Unable to ask for enlightenment in the presence of his wife, who was ignorant of the outlaws’ real names, McCreedy absorbed the additional information with a poker face that was the equal of Kid Curry’s. 

His wife, sensing the social awkwardness, filled the gap with the grace habitual to her. “So you have not known Mr. Smith very long, _Señorita_?”

“That’s right. We only met at the beginning of November, when my brother hired these gentlemen to escort us. They had helped to foil a robbery attempt just as we left the bank in Denver with the money we were to carry, so my brother thought it would be as well to take them on for the duration of the journey. We became much better acquainted during the months they remained in Laredo, and now Joshua and I have exchanged promises to wed. They’re escorting me home to our ranch in northern Colorado whilst my brother remains in Laredo for another few weeks.”

“We were actually coming to see you,” added Heyes to McCreedy, “because Paula has a problem that she hopes Mrs. McCreedy will advise her on. We can’t really talk about it here.”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” replied McCreedy genially. “If you’ll ride with us, we’re going home now. Should be there in about two and a half hours.”

“We can entertain you to supper,” said Carlota, “and certainly we will give you lodging for the night. May we hope that you will honour us by remaining as our guests for a few days at least, so that you may rest yourselves and your horses before continuing your journey?”

“That’s very kind of you, _Señora_ ,” responded Paula. “We shall accept with pleasure; that is,” she added, with a quick glance at Heyes, “if it suits our plans.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Heyes turned to McCreedy. “In fact, I need to get Paula a ring, and I could use your advice about a good jeweller in El Paso.”

“I know of one, yes.” McCreedy assisted his wife and her maid to pack up the remains of the lunch and loaded the things into the buggy. “I’ll go with you and show you, so we can make sure you find what you want, while the ladies stay at the ranch and get acquainted.”

Heyes grinned. “Thanks, I hoped you say that.”

*** *** ***

Declining the offer of a seat in the buggy, Paula nevertheless availed herself of the opportunity to ride close to the right-hand side of it, more convenient since she had curled her leg over her saddle horn in a makeshift side-saddle seat so as not to offend the ladies at the chuch, in order to continue conversing with Carlota, while Heyes and Kid rode on the left side and talked with McCreedy. From scraps of talk that she could hear, she deduced that Heyes and Kid were telling McCreedy about some of their adventures as Texas Rangers. Meanwhile, taking advantage of her ability to speak Spanish fluently while none of the men did so, she began to tell Carlota about the bandits robbing churches in Coahuila, and the request of _Padre_ Esteban in Allende that she should take the church plate to a place of safety.

It turned out that Carlota had visited the _Villa de San Juan de Mata_ on her way back to her brother’s ranch from a sojourn in Mexico City. “It is indeed a beautiful, historic church, though the mission that you saw today is older; it was founded in 1682, and some of the original roof beams were used when the church was rebuilt in 1843. And it is a terrible thing that these bandits are doing, robbing the churches on purpose. I am so glad that you were able to bring the gold vessels away with you, to keep them safe.”

“I also am glad—I was happy to do what I could—but it almost happened that they were not safe after all.” Paula described the attack by the bandits who had followed her across the border. “So you see, if it had not been for Joshua and Thaddeus, things might have gone very badly. Joshua told me about you,” she continued, “and suggested that we ask if you could help us.”

“Yes, certainly. I could take the things, and then take them to my brother’s _rancho_ when I go there to visit. They will be quite safe, both here at our home in Red Rock, and at _Rancho_ Armendáriz. My brother employs over two hundred armed men.” Carlota paused, thinking. “You must tell me as much as you are able about the bandits, and what _Padre_ Esteban told you about what they have been doing. When I tell my brother, he will do something to stop them. In any case, I will undertake to keep the vessels, and to return them to the church in Allende with my own hands as soon as it is safe to do so. You must give me a letter for the priest. My brother will provide me with an escort to go there.”

“That is most kind of you, _Señora_. I admit that I hoped you would say something of the kind. And I hope that _Señor_ Armendáriz can find it in his heart to help those poor people in Coahuila. I am very, very grateful!” Spanish was a beautiful language, reflected Paula, allowing one to express oneself in a rather fulsome manner without sounding insincere, as would be the case in English.

*** *** ***

After supper that evening at the McCreedy ranch, everyone retired to the back parlor to continue their conversation. Carlota withdrew a beautiful piece of cream-colored silk from the drawer of a side table, collected her embroidery basket, and sat down to work. McCreedy, looking at Heyes and Curry thoughtfully, extracted a deck of cards from another drawer and suggested a game of poker. 

“With only three of us?” Heyes shook his head. “Unless we can get one or both of the ladies to join us, or your foreman, or someone, it wouldn’t work. We really need at least four players. And it would have to be just a friendly game.” He looked McCreedy in the eye, daring him to say something about that. “Thaddeus and I don’t have enough cash to spare right now to play for high stakes, and I have to buy that ring tomorrow.” 

McCreedy refused the challenge. He knew better now than to try to outwit the two outlaws or win large sums of money from them by the use of some trick. Over the year or so he had known them, he had finally learned to respect them as his intellectual equals. Hannibal Heyes played poker as well or better than he did, and was capable of matching or exceeding any devious method employed to separate him and his partner from their money. If they played, it would have to be, as Heyes suggested, a mere friendly game for parlor stakes. 

He turned to the ladies. “My wife doesn’t play. Do you, Miss Wellington?”

“I play well enough, I believe, to give you a game, but I’m only just learning. I’m better at draw poker, but if you wish to play stud, I could still make your fourth player, I expect. Unless you would rather play whist?” Paula refrained from mentioning that Heyes and the Kid had been teaching her the rudiments of both common varieties of poker for a couple of hours every evening, during the eight days it had taken them to ride from Carrizo Springs, so that she could be ready for just this eventuality, which Heyes had anticipated.

“No, you have me there, ma’am. I haven’t played whist in years. I’m not sure I could hold up my end of the game. We can play a hand or two of draw, for whatever stakes you suggest.”

She glanced at Heyes. “Weren’t you telling me, my dear, about playing poker for pennies with the president of a railroad, with each penny representing a hundred dollars? Would that suit everyone?” She looked from one man to another. “That would ensure we are playing the game for the enjoyment of the skill required, rather than for any financial consideration.”

“You played poker with the president of a railroad?” McCreedy almost choked. 

“Well, we were on a train with him, and he was short of players,” explained Kid. “We didn’t really feel we could turn down the invitation. As Miss Wellington says, he insisted on playing for pennies.”

“Excuse me just one moment. I must get something from my saddlebags.” Paula left the room, going to the spacious bedchamber that had been allotted to her. In a few moments she was back, with a small package in her hands. “Mr. McCreedy, before we sit down to play, I have a present for you. I suppose one could term it a hospitality gift.” She extended the package. “It’s the Tenth Edition, revised, copyright 1880, and I believe you’ll find the relevant pages are marked with ribbons.”

Heyes exchanged a glance with his partner, eyebrows raised. He had no idea what Paula was up to, giving McCreedy a hospitality gift—this was a complete surprise.

From Miss Wellington’s reference to the Tenth Edition, Patrick McCreedy had a good idea of what he would find when he opened the package. Sure enough, the removal of the wrapping paper disclosed a small volume bound in red leather, with the words _The Modern Pocket Hoyle_ stamped on the spine and front cover. Inside the front cover, the further information appeared that the book had been published by Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, 1880. Two ribbons protruded from the top.

Opening the book to the first marker, in the preface, McCreedy read the text quickly, and then passed the open book to Heyes. “Joshua, I think you should have the privilege of reading this aloud.”

Heyes accepted the book, scanned the page, and quickly found the paragraph he wanted.[2]

> In this, the Tenth Edition, it has been found necessary to re-write the entire games of Poker, Cassino, and some others; the two first-named, Cassino and Poker, have been greatly modified during the past few years, and are now presented correct in all their latest details. On the Mississippi River, and west of it, the common practice at the present day is to allow straights to be played in all games of poker without the formality of declaring the same before the commencement of the game.

Glancing at his host, Heyes then turned to the second ribbon, between pages 150 and 151. He looked up. “This deals with the ranking of the hands in poker.” 

> Straights are not always played ; it should therefore be determined whether they are to be admitted at the commencement of the game; however, see the Preface as to whether straights are to be played without formal determination, this practice varying by geographical region.

“That seems clear enough.” He raised an eyebrow at McCreedy, then favored Paula with a quick smile intended for her alone. 

“Yes, it does.” McCreedy wondered just what Heyes had told his lady that had decided her upon purchasing the book. “We’ll assume, then, that straights and flushes are admissible in any game we play tonight.”[3]

Heyes couldn’t stand it. “Paula, where’d you find this? I know there wasn’t any place to buy books in Carrizo Springs, or any of the towns we passed through on the way here. At least, I sure didn’t see any. Del Rio, Osborne[4], and Van Horn all seemed to be pretty small.”

She smiled back at him, warmly enough to cause him to blush. “I got it in Laredo before Christmas. One of the general stores there had just received an entire box of this 1880 edition.”

_Of course, that doesn’t explain why she thought she might need it_ , thought Heyes. _That was before I proposed to her, and long before I suggested coming this way to visit Mac_. He suddenly had a thought which made him blush a second time. _That could mean that she was thinking of looking out for my interests way back in November, when I first told her and Wellington what McCreedy did to us. I wish I’d known, that’s all._ He exchanged another glance with his partner. Of course Kid would be likely to tell him that he should have known all along, that Miss Wellington’s interest had been obvious, if he’d been looking.

Kid had been watching the byplay with well-concealed amusement, his face betraying no more than a courteous interest in the proceedings, but he also had wondered why Miss Wellington had purchased the copy of Hoyle as early as last year. Perhaps she had just wanted to verify for herself what he and Heyes had told her.

The four of them sat down to play a couple of hands of what Heyes supposed would have to be called parlor poker. He watched Miss Wellington surreptitiously—this would be her first real opportunity to put his lessons into practice. Without the need to wonder whether McCreedy would try to cheat them, Heyes was able to relax and enjoy the game, winning several hands. _Mac and I are obviously the two best players, but Kid’s doing well, as usual, and Paula’s managing better than I expected_.

Carlota continued to work on her embroidery while watching her husband enjoy himself along with their guests. She had not missed the slight tension surrounding the presentation of _The Modern Pocket Hoyle_ ; privately, she resolved to discuss the matter with Miss Wellington on the following day, when she understood that the men were to ride to El Paso. At half past nine, she rose quietly and left the room to make arrangements for tea, coffee, wine, and a light meal to be brought to the parlor.

When McCreedy saw the tray of food and drink being brought in, he brought the game to a close so that he could join his wife in what had become a regular evening ritual. “We’re riding up to El Paso in the morning, then?” He looked from one to the other of his guests.

“I’ll come with you,” said Heyes. “Paula will stay here, of course—it wouldn’t be right to take her along to choose the promise ring. And K—Thaddeus thought he’d better stay here as well.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Kid hesitated, not knowing how much he should say in front of Mrs. McCreedy. “Well, Mac, the last time I was in El Paso—it’d be over a year ago now—seemed like the marshal kind of took a dislike to me. It’d be better to stay out of his way.”

McCreedy frowned. He knew what Curry meant—that he was afraid the marshal would recognize him. “If it was over a year ago,” he suggested, “things should be O.K., because the man who was there for the past three years, Marshal Slater, is gone now. He left and went to California. The new man’s name is Moore—Jeremy Moore. Know him?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” replied Kid. He smiled. “Guess I’ll be goin’ with you after all, then.”

“Good,” said Heyes. He didn’t recognize the new marshal’s name either. “That’ll give the ladies a chance to get better acquainted without us hanging around and distracting them.” He smiled at Paula, making _her_ blush this time.

**El Paso, Texas, Monday, February 7th**

By ‘riding,’ Heyes realized, Big Mac McCreedy had meant that they would ride while he drove his light buggy. His corpulence made the buggy a more comfortable option than hours spent in a Western saddle, and El Paso was two hours west of the little town of Red Rock. They had reached the tiny border town, only just now beginning to grow as word came of the expected arrival of the Texas and Southern Pacific Railroad later this year, around noon, and McCreedy had led them to a little café which enjoyed his patronage. 

After they had eaten, they visited a shop with signs in two languages over its door— _Joyería_ , and Fine Jewelry. Heyes explained to the proprietor what he was looking for and was directed to a display case with trays of rings. He looked them over, but didn’t see anything he liked; more specifically, he wasn’t sure what he did want. His eyes were caught by a small book lying on the table behind the counter, _The Language of Gems_.

“What’s that book?” he asked. “I didn’t know gems had a language.”

“Oh, _Señor_ , this book explains the meanings of the jewels, so that you can choose a stone that will say what you want to your lady, you understand?”

“Kid, did you hear that? Maybe that’s like that flower list you have in the back of that book of yours.”

“Yeah, could be.” Kid came over to stand beside his partner. “Could we see the book?”

The little man passed the book over. “If you would tell me what you are looking for?” he said to Heyes. “I know this book well; perhaps I can help you find something.”

_That could get awkward_ , thought Heyes. _Oh, well, we’re not gonna see this fellow again any time soon_. He looked to make sure that McCreedy was out of earshot. “Maybe something that means ‘sincere’ or ‘trustworthy’ or, well, ‘honest,’ something like that.”

“Ah. If I may, _Señor_?” The proprietor retrieved the book and turned quickly to a spot close to the front cover. “Like this?” His finger marking an entry, he spread the book open on the countertop in front of Heyes.

_Amethysts_ , Heyes read, _have been used to give the wearer quick wits or a clear mind_ … ah, this was it. They were used, when given as a gift, to signify sincerity on the part of the giver. There were several other meanings. He wondered if Paula could be expected to know what was meant, or at least to know where she could look up such things. He discussed this in a low voice with Kid, who pointed out that if she really had no idea of the intended meaning, she would be likely to ask him, since they had collaborated, as it were, on deciphering the meaning of the flower cards Miss O’More had sent.

“And if she does ask me,” Kid finished, “I can tell her what you had in mind. I think it’ll do, Heyes, and it’ll go with almost anything she wants to wear. At least, it ought to, bein’ that color.” His finger rested on the colored drawing of the purple stone.

“Fine. Now we just need to find out if he has one.” Heyes caught the owner’s eye and pointed out the picture of the amethyst. “Do you have something with this stone? If it isn’t in a ring, maybe I could get it set.”

“ _Sí, Señor_ , I have one here. It would be a simple matter to set it in a silver or gold ring, if you know the size.”

Heyes extracted the little leather pouch Wellington had given him from his pocket and shook the sapphire and silver ring it contained out into his hand. “This is the size it needs to be.” 

The jeweller settled the ring down over a sizing rod and made notes. He opened a locked drawer in a chest behind the counter, lifted something out, and came over to Heyes, putting a dark, glowing purple stone down on the counter inside the silver circle of the ring. “There, _Señor_. A gold ring for it, or a silver one?”

Kid and Heyes exchanged looks. “Silver,” said Heyes. Kid nodded.

“Very well. I can have that done for you tomorrow afternoon, or possibly the next day.”

Heyes thanked him and moved away to the end of the counter, looking at some of the silver and turquoise brooches on display.

Seeing that they were bringing the transaction to an end, McCreedy had drifted over to the counter. “I’d like to pick out some little thing for my wife, while we’re here.” He was bearing his wife’s instructions about Miss Wellington’s ring in mind and thinking how best to carry them out.

“We’ll wait for you outside, Mac,” Curry said. He and his partner stepped out into the winter sunshine, still quite warm this far south.

Bending closer to speak into the jeweller’s ear, McCreedy passed over a handful of gold coins. “Ah, I’d appreciate it if you’d have that ring ready for my young friend tomorrow. Use this money to cover the rush order and to bring the price down for him. And now, I’d like to have that diamond pendant. I’ll take it with me, if you’ll wrap it up.” He passed over more money to cover the price of the pendant.

“Certainly, _Señor_ McCreedy.” The man fitted the pendant into a box and began wrapping it carefully. “You will not be accompanying your friend tomorrow?”

“No, I have business at the ranch. He’s not to know anything about this, understand?”

“ _Sí, Señor, comprendo_ _._ I will have the ring ready for him tomorrow, and I will say nothing about the extra money.”

“Good. _Adiós_.”

**The McCreedy Ranch, Monday, February 7th**

When the men had departed, Carlota McCreedy and Paula Wellington withdrew from the breakfast table to a small sitting room on the south-eastern side of the house, where, when the heavy crimson drapes had been drawn back, the morning sun provided extra warmth and light through large windows. Each lady had provided herself with a piece of hand work; this morning, both happened to be knitting socks, as the simplicity of the work was more conducive to conversation.

Having each admired the other’s work, they went on to comment about the different styles of knitting. Paula, as usual, was knitting in the English manner, using her right hand to fling a loop of yarn around behind the working needle in order to make each stitch, while Carlota pushed the tip of the working needle under a strand held taut in her left hand, pulling it up to make a loop. For the present, they had decided to continue their conversation in Spanish, as a courtesy from Paula to her hostess.

“The odd thing is,” commented Paula, “that I am left-handed, as Joshua is for most things except writing and shooting, and yet I’m using what some people think of as a right-handed style of knitting. I can do the Continental style that you are using, but I am not as quick with it, and I want to finish this sock. If Joshua plans to buy me a promise ring today, and give it to me sometime this week, I shall have to have these socks ready to give him. I’ve been working on them for a couple of months, intending them for a Christmas present, but of course I dared not give him anything so personal until he had expressed more than an ordinary interest; really, until he had given me something to show his regard.”

“Yes, I understand. I suppose, in some ways, my husband and I were fortunate that we did not have to deal with many of those conventions, since our courtship was of such a short duration. These socks are for Patrick, and he will probably buy something for me in El Paso. He likes to give me things.”

“You did not know one another at all well before you were married, Joshua told me.”

“No. We had met only once, though each of us had been told much of the other. I owe a great deal to Joshua and Thaddeus, because it was they who made both Patrick and me see that such a thing was possible.” Carlota stopped to bring in a second color of yarn, making a decorative top border to the stocking. “He wished to call at our _rancho_ and ask Ernesto’s formal permission to call upon me. I would have been happy for him to do that, so that we could get acquainted, in the usual manner of courtship, but my brother became very agitated when I told him what Patrick had done in rescuing me from the bandits who had imprisoned Teresa and me and our escort. Ernesto was quite certain that Patrick had planned the entire thing to put him at a disadvantage. He knows better now, but he made it clear that he had no intention of consenting to any social visits from Patrick.” She stopped work for a moment and looked up. “I am of age, of course, and my brother would have little to say about such a matter, but since it is his house, and he pays the wages of the men who work for us, it would have been impossible for me to welcome Patrick there over my brother’s objections. That is why I took Teresa, and two of the older men who were loyal to me personally, and ran away. I wanted to talk the matter over with Patrick, and I would have had no chance to do so at _Rancho_ Armendáriz.”

“What a romance! But Thaddeus told me that when he came here to ask Mr. McCreedy to accompany him back to Mexico, to set your brother’s mind at ease as to your safety, there was a Spanish priest already here in the midst of a marriage service.”

“Ah. That was due to Teresa. She feared that Patrick would come to the wrong conclusion, if I simply arrived here with no other escort than my maid and two men, so she suggested that we should stop in Metasca and ask _Padre_ Ramírez to accompany us. That way Patrick would understand that there was no intent to have harm come to him, or think that I was some kind of instrument of a plot my brother had devised to avenge himself.”

“I don’t think Mr. McCreedy would have suspected anything of the kind.”

“One could not be certain. Ernesto and Patrick had been fighting for so many years that they did not trust one another about anything. It was good that the priest came along. Only then, when Patrick saw that I was accompanied by a priest and my maid, who is also my friend from long ago, he said to me, why should we not be married, if _Padre_ Ramírez was willing to celebrate the sacrament? We already had a great respect for one another, he pointed out. If we were to be married, my brother would be obliged to accept the matter, and negotiate with Patrick as with a _cuñado_ , a brother-in-law. It seemed to me that was an excellent idea, so I agreed and we were married. It goes very well.”

Paula nodded. “I can see that. It is obvious that Mr. McCreedy has a great affection for you.” She withdrew all but two of her knitting needles from the sock, threaded a yarn needle with the end of the yarn, and began to close the toe opening[5]. “I also have a brother, but he entirely approves of Joshua.” _At least, I think he does_. “He gave his consent to the courtship about a month ago, and was happy to hear that Joshua had proposed marriage. We are not formally betrothed, because Joshua’s personal responsibilities will not permit him to take on such an obligation at this time, so we are following a custom of the American South by exchanging promises, and he will give me a ring. When he is able to make a formal offer, I will be ready to accept it.”

“It seems to be a betrothal in all but name,” said Carlota. 

“It is, and I consider it so,” Paula replied, “but because it is not as binding as a betrothal, it gives me an opportunity to break the agreement, without disgrace, if I should wish to do so. That is what worries Joshua. He does not want to have me bound to him irrevocably until he is able to provide a safe home for me. He cannot do that right now.”

“He is indeed a man of honour, then.”

“Yes, he certainly is. Of course, that only makes me love him the more. It also caused my brother to think favourably of him.”

At this point, Teresa interrupted the knitting and conversation by bringing in a mid-morning tea tray. Carlota explained that although the custom of mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea was not one with which she had been familiar before her marriage, she had discovered that her husband had fond memories of it, as practiced by his Irish-born parents. She had therefore learned to make the beverage properly and had ensured that Teresa also learned. She had even, she confided to Paula, learned to enjoy the tea itself.

“You might well enjoy it,” replied Paula, “when it is of such a good quality and as well-made as this. It’s delightful!”

“ _Gracias_ ,” murmured her hostess. “You are in the habit of drinking it yourself, then?”

“Yes. My brother and I were born in Scotland and raised in Scotland and England,” Paula explained, “where fine tea is very much appreciated. We kept up the custom when we immigrated to this country to set up a horse ranch in northern Colorado. I buy our tea from an excellent supplier in Denver, though I also have an arrangement with our London solicitor to have a quantity of both China and India tea shipped to us every six months, together with some other products we cannot always find out here in the American West, such as properly milled Scottish oat meal.”

As the day progressed and the two women became better acquainted, Carlota thought that the time might be appropriate to ask her guest the significance of the gift she had brought out on the previous evening, a new edition of _The Modern Pocket Hoyle._ She had not failed to notice the slight tension that the gift had produced, nor the somewhat unusual gesture her husband had made in asking Joshua Smith to read some sections aloud.

Slightly embarrassed by the question, Paula hesitated. “ _Señora_ , in order to answer that, I must say some things that I fear will not be flattering to your husband, or even possibly to your brother. I should not wish to offend you. Perhaps we had best change the subject.”

“There will be no offense, _Señorita_. I am well aware that neither my brother nor my husband has always behaved toward one another in the most gentlemanly manner, or with the best of intentions. They are both men of wealth and power and have occasionally done things that are less than admirable in order to maintain their respective positions. Ernesto would not deliberately act without honour, and I believe that Patrick will keep his word, once given, but that is not to say that either of them has always done the best possible thing. I know, especially, that in this somewhat ridiculous matter of the sculpture of Augustus Caesar[6], both my brother and my husband have behaved like spoiled young boys still at school. You will not tell Patrick I said so.”

“No, certainly not.” Paula chuckled. “That does make things easier. I suppose you are aware that Mr. McCreedy once hired Joshua and Thaddeus to, shall we say, retrieve that sculpture from your brother’s _hacienda_?”

“I did not know it at the time, as I was visiting friends in Mexico City, but, yes, I have heard. I have also heard how Ernesto got it back, not once but twice. At least the second time it was legally purchased at an auction in _Alta_ California.”

Paula nodded. “Well, the Hoyle book has a direct bearing on that whole sequence of events. Joshua and Thaddeus told me and my brother what had happened—from their point of view, of course—and so when I saw the book offered for sale in Laredo, I thought it might be useful to own a copy.” She explained the matter of the poker game that McCreedy had pressured Heyes to join, and Heyes’s loss of twenty thousand dollars when McCreedy had used an obscure rule in the 1879 edition of Hoyle to invalidate the winning hand that Heyes had held. 

“It was not precisely cheating, but Joshua thought that it was done deliberately with the intent of winning back the money and thus allowing Mr. McCreedy to regain possession of the bust of Caesar at no cost to himself. It had the additional effect of humiliating Joshua in front of the other men present, so Joshua and Thaddeus took it upon themselves to devise an honest way of reversing the situation. They borrowed twenty thousand dollars from the bank for the purpose of making an apparent long-odds wager with Mr. McCreedy. The odds of the wager that Joshua proposed were actually very high in his favour, but unless the other man takes the trouble to sit down and make the calculations, that is not readily apparent.”

“In other words,” said Carlota, “it was a trick very similar to the one that had been played on him. I assume that he won.”

“Yes, and repaid the bank loan, and gained some respect from Mr. McCreedy and the other men present, which was, of course, the other object of the wager. So when I saw the new edition of Hoyle, with a note in the section on poker particularly addressing just the matter that had come up in the original game, I bought it. At the time, I did not think I would have an opportunity to present it to Mr. McCreedy, but as you see, I did so, and it was perfectly well received.” She paused, wondering how much more she should say. There were, of course, some points of the story she would have to omit when speaking with the sister of Ernesto Armendáriz. 

“Thus my husband is prevented from trying the same trick on anyone else. That is a good thing. Pray continue, _Señorita_. There is more?”

“There is a little more to the story, _Señora_. Mr. McCreedy proposed another wager with Joshua for even stakes, each man to put up twenty thousand dollars in cash. This wager was in progress when _Señor_ Armendáriz arrived to take possession of the Caesar sculpture, so the money was still lying on the table in plain sight.” Paula stopped. There was no good way to talk about what had happened next without accusing Armendáriz of theft, which she wished to avoid. 

Carlota spared her the trouble. “I know what was done, _Señorita_. My brother assumed that the money he saw belonged to my husband—as he is now—and therefore he thought he could take it in satisfaction of the debt that lay between them. But you are saying that half of that money belonged to Mr. Smith?”

“That’s right,” said Paula, relieved. “Twenty thousand of it was Joshua’s stake in the wager that had been proposed.” She had carefully avoided, during the recounting of the story, any mention of where or why Heyes and Kid had obtained the initial twenty thousand dollars. Although she had made a glancing reference to their burglary of the safe to retrieve the bust of Caesar, she had not said that McCreedy had paid them that sum for that particular task. She wondered what Carlota would do now.

“Ernesto did not know that. He would not have wished to take money that belonged to someone else. And he has a considerable respect and liking for Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones.”

“He does?” This was, Paula felt, sure to be news to Heyes and Kid, who had formed the distinct impression that Armendáriz never wished to lay eyes on them again, with his talk of the persistence of mosquitoes and the measures one occasionally had to take to discourage the insects from returning.

“Yes, indeed he does. He spoke to me highly of their courage, and of the good manners and gentlemanly bearing they displayed throughout their dealings with him. He even told me that if one or both of them had been older, he would have been more receptive to an offer for my hand from one of them than to such an offer from Patrick, because they had conducted themselves throughout with honour. He will be most interested to learn that Mr. Smith has engaged himself to marry and that I have had the good fortune to make the lady’s acquaintance. And Mr. Jones? Is there a lady who is interested in him?”

“Yes, there is, though he and the lady are only corresponding formally at this stage. She lives in Colorado, on the Western Slope.”

“That is good to hear, but it is beside the point at issue,” rejoined Carlota. “I will tell my brother what you have said. I am certain he will wish to return the money that belonged to Mr. Smith. Will you leave an address with me, so that he may know where to send it?”

This was more than Paula had ever expected. As she wrote out her brother’s address and explained that letters to Mr. Smith could be addressed to him care of Paul A. Wellington, Esq., at the C Bar W Ranch, Estes Park, Colorado, she resolved to say nothing to Heyes and Kid about the possible return of the money. It might take a long time, or it might never happen at all. If the money was returned, there would be time enough for the boys to decide what to do with it.

* * *

[1] The Catholic church in Socorro, originally founded as the Indian mission of Nuestra Señora del Limpia Concepción del Socorro, was rebuilt in 1843 after the previous building was destroyed by flooding. <http://www.elpasodiocese.org/la-purisima-socorro-mission.html>

[2] The author has slightly modified the text from the 1880 edition of Hoyle, following the practice of Roy Huggins, the producer of the 1957 _Maverick_ episode “According to Hoyle;” also executive producer and story writer for the first-season _Alias Smith and Jones_ episode “The McCreedy Bust.” In actuality, the status of the straight as a legal poker hand was doubtful until early 1887, when both versions of Hoyle ( _The American Hoyle_ and _Hoyle’s Games_ ) began listing it as a standard hand. 

[3] There was never any restriction in Hoyle on playing flushes in poker, or any statement that these rules applied only to stud poker—those two details were invented by Mr. Huggins.

[4] Now Alpine, Texas.

[5] We have no evidence that the style of closing the toe which was supposedly invented by Major General Kitchener, and bears his name, was being used this early; however, it is only reasonable to assume that one or more skilled knitters would have discovered the method for themselves, long before World War I.

[6] The bust is a copy of the head portion of the famous statue of Augustus of Prima Porta, discovered in 1863 at Prima Porta, near Rome. Busts were apparently executed in the first century, so the one McCreedy had could have been quite valuable; on the other hand, it might have been a 19th-century copy falsely represented to him as work from the first century. <https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustus_of_Prima_Porta>


	2. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyes's party pushes on north to the railhead south of Albuquerque, sharing songs along the way. Heyes gives his lady a promise ring.

**The McCreedy Ranch, Tuesday, February 8th, 1881**

At the breakfast table, Carlota urged her guests to stay another day at the least, but when McCreedy explained that the jeweller in El Paso had assured him that Mr. Smith’s ring would be ready that very day, Heyes determined not to wait.

“We appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. McCreedy,” he assured her. “But we really have to be going. We have another three hundred miles to ride before we can take a train for Colorado. Paula’s housekeeper will be worried about her, especially if she’s received a wire saying we’re on the way. That is,” he added, “she knows we’re escorting Paula home, but if we’re overdue, she might think something has happened. It’s a long ride.”

_Got yourself out of that one quick enough_ , thought Kid, amused. His partner was having to take all sorts of things into consideration that he had never had to think about before, such as the possibility his intentions might be misunderstood.

Creditably, McCreedy managed to keep a serious expression on his face. He had ascertained from Heyes the previous day that Paul Wellington knew very well who they were, and was aware that he had given his consent for his sister to become engaged to a notorious bank and train robber, even though Heyes and Curry were no longer engaged in that occupation. Miss Wellington’s friends and family might well be concerned if the party failed to arrive on schedule.

*** *** ***

In the jeweller’s shop, Heyes ascertained that the ring was ready. A quick glance at his cousin produced an invitation from Kid to Paula to walk down the street with him to the café where McCreedy had taken them to lunch the previous day.

Heyes paid for the ring, surprised that the price was rather lower than he had expected, especially for a ring that had been purposely bespoken. The silver ring incorporated a simple floral work setting which displayed the deep purple stone to admiration. Paula would love it. He thanked the jeweller for making the work a priority, watched as the ring was packaged, pocketed the little box, and left the shop. 

Joining his cousin and Paula for lunch, Heyes withdrew the ring from its box and held it out to Paula. “To seal my promise,” he said, with a smile that set her heart fluttering.

“You should put it on,” she said, holding out her hand. The ring slid over her knuckle, fitting into place perfectly. She wondered how Heyes had managed to get the size exactly right. She smiled back. “Now everyone can see that I’m spoken for. Thank you, darling, it’s lovely. It’s an amethyst, isn’t it?”

Retaining hold of her fingers longer than was strictly necessary, Heyes nodded. “I chose that stone on purpose.” He hesitated. “The jeweller had a book about the language of gems …”

“Oh, I see!” Paula thought for a moment. “Kid, do you have that book of yours with you? I _think_ I know what an amethyst is for, but I really ought to be certain….”

“It’s in my saddlebag,” replied Kid, “but I know what it means without looking. It’s for sincerity.”

“Sincerity. That’s what I thought.” She looked at Heyes speculatively. “You should have waited to do this until we were out of town. I can’t do what I want to do to you right here and now.”

“You want to slap me?” asked Heyes, only half joking.

“No, no.” Paula blushed. “But it would cause talk if I were to kiss you right here, even though there aren’t very many people in here at present.” There were, in fact, only the proprietress, and an older couple sitting at a table by the window.

“Let them talk.” Heyes leaned forward and kissed her very gently on the lips. “That will have to do until I have more time, or until we’re out of town, as you say. You remember now, you’re spoken for.”

“I remember. I’m yours. That’s what you said earlier, when you proposed this visit to the McCreedys.” She looked right into his eyes for a moment, then smiled, by way of letting him know that she knew he was not joking. “By the way, Carlota says she will take the gold to Mexico the next time she visits her brother, and she is sure he will take measures to deal with the bandits down in Coahuila.”

“Good. That’s what I hoped. Will she write and tell you about it?”

“I daresay she will. I gave her the address of the ranch.”

Heyes nodded. “We’d better get going. We’ve got a long way to ride today. It’s still three hundred miles to Albuquerque, or wherever the end of the line is now. They’ve probably gotten some more track laid just since we were through there three months ago.”

*** *** ***

That night the three of them camped on the trail, as the nearest town was too far away to reach by nightfall. Heyes and Curry built a fire and pitched the small tent for Paula’s use. They had laid in some bacon, some smoked beef, a carefully padded package of eggs—a gift from the McCreedys—and some fresh winter fruit that they had seen at a market in El Paso, to supplement the flour, baking powder, soda, and salt that they always carried. The little town was at a fairly high elevation, but they were still far enough south that citrus fruits and other produce were readily available.

While they were eating supper, Paula opened her saddlebag and pulled out a cloth bag. “Heyes, I didn’t get a chance to wrap this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s your Christmas present. I’m sorry it’s late—I know it’s February now—but I couldn’t give it to you earlier.” Paula bent her head, opening the bag to extract the thick dark brown wool socks she had been working on since late December. If he chose to think the delay was because the project hadn’t been finished yet, that was acceptable. She rolled the socks into a neat bundle and handed them to Heyes. 

Catching sight of Kid’s face, she realized that he at least knew the true reason she had been unable to give a Christmas gift at the proper time. A lady could not give a gift to a gentleman, especially a personal thing such as a hand-knitted pair of socks, until he had expressed his interest by first giving her a gift. Kid had sent off a package to Miss O’More just before Christmas, containing a beautiful turquoise and silver bracelet he had found in an Indian market on the way down to Texas, and had received a package in return. He knew. He had later showed her the contents of the package—a hand-knitted pair of dark grey socks, with an unusual heel turn method that Paula had never seen before. She hoped, some day, to meet Miss O’More and ask her about it.

Heyes had unrolled the socks and was handling them with astonishment and appreciation. “You knitted these? Thank you! They’re beautiful. They’ll be warm, too.” He crossed one foot over the other leg and removed his boots and socks forthwith, so he could try them on. “They fit just right! How’d you do that?”

“Kid helped,” replied Paula. “Do I get to know how you managed to have the ring fit so perfectly?”

“Oh. Well, I had this.” He pulled out the little leather pouch and handed it to her. “Your brother gave it to me to use, just for that purpose. I suppose you should have it back now.”

“Not unless I can get it resized. The third finger of the left hand is occupied now.” Paula experimentally slipped the sapphire on the third finger of her right hand, where it fit well enough, though a trifle loose. She looked at it, then back at the amethyst, then slipped the sapphire off. “No. I don’t want to wear it along with yours. Besides, the reason Paul had it originally was because one of the corner clasps was broken. It’s not really safe to wear until it’s fixed.” 

She held the leather pouch out to Heyes, who was about to refuse, until he recalled that he might need it later for a similar use, when he was ready to choose an actual engagement ring. He put it in his pocket.

She looked from one to other speculatively. “Second helpings?”

“Yes, please.” Both men held out their plates for more of the meat and dumplings. 

“That reminds me of something I wanted to ask you both,” Paula began. She had their attention now, even with the fresh hot dumplings still on their plates. She hesitated, not sure how to introduce the topic.

“Go on,” Heyes encouraged her.

“It’s just that I had an idea which might make things a little easier—perhaps a little more manageable—whilst we’re travelling. You’ll forgive me, I hope, for mentioning it, but there seemed to be a constant thread running through several of the anecdotes you favoured us with. You often seemed to be running out of money, or end up needing to sell your horses in order to get a poker stake. I understand that almost the only experience you’ve had with banking accounts is the making of unauthorized withdrawals, but it occurred to me …”

Heyes chuckled. “Actually, that’s not all. But go on. What occurred to you?”

“Perhaps you would consider setting aside a quarter of whatever money each of you has. I shall do the same. Then if you would allow me to hold that money for you, it could serve as a fund for emergencies. Because I can tell you that I have no intention of selling my horses, especially Star here.” She gestured to the black stallion. “He’s no longer the only gentleman horse[1] in our breeding program, but we do still use him occasionally.”

The cousins exchanged glances. Heyes grimaced. “You know, since we went straight, I just didn’t think of doing anything that sensible, and so we’ve run out of money every once in a while, like you said.[2] I think that’s a great idea. And you should keep the money. Let’s divide things up right now.” He pulled out his wallet and a leather bag which held gold and silver coins, counted the money, and put one quarter of it aside, while Kid did the same.

Paula took out her reticule, and the envelope her brother had given her, and divided her money in fourths as well. She accepted the sums handed to her, made a note of the total on the back of the envelope, and packed the money away, together with the envelope, in an inner pocket of her bodice. “There. Now there’ll be no danger of anyone impulsively spending more than we have. You just tell me when you want some of the funds.”

“Like for hotel rooms,” said Heyes. “Now that we’ve gotten rid of that church gold, we might actually be able to risk staying in hotels and being more comfortable. I hope tomorrow’ll be the last night we’ll have to camp out for a while.” He stopped to finish up the remainder of the dumplings on his plate. “Don’t take that wrong, sweetheart. We couldn’t get any better cooking in a fancy restaurant.”

Paula saw Kid muttering something under his breath. “Except Miss O’More’s place? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Well, yeah,” said Kid, with a sheepish laugh. “I guess I say that pretty often, don’t I?”

“Oh, no. Not real often,” Heyes commented cheerfully. “Not more ’n’ once a day.”

“This really is good, Paula,” Kid assured her. “I never would have thought of dumplings. If we’ve got flour and baking powder, we make biscuits. But the dumplings are great. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had ’em.”

*** *** ***

Three days later, they found themselves nowhere near a town with a café of any kind, and were obliged to make do for lunch with some of the provisions still stowed on the pack horse. “There’s time, isn’t there? For me to actually cook something?” Paula turned to Heyes, who was unsaddling her horse before attending to his own.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s a short stage today. We could take a couple of hours, and still reach Belén by nightfall. But don’t feel you have to, just for us. We have plenty of cold meat and cheese.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d like something hot to eat, too,” she replied. “You two get busy and build a fire. I can use that cheese, though. I’ve got an idea how to soften it over the fire and serve it over the bannocks I’m going to bake.”

“Bannocks?”

“Yeah, Heyes, you remember, don’t you?” Kid set his saddle down and turned to strip the saddle blankets from his gelding. “Both your mother and mine used to make those—it’s a kind of flat bread.”

“Oh.” Heyes had not thought of his mother, now dead more than twenty years, in a long time. He preferred not to think of her. It made him feel angry, and somehow not safe, when he remembered how she and his father had been killed by the raiders from Missouri, and he, a boy of ten, had been unable to do anything to prevent it. But now he came to think of it, he did recall the bannocks. He pushed the other memories away firmly.

Kneading the soft dough quickly with her fingers, using a flat rock with a cloth spread over it as a table, Paula watched the sadness cross her sweetheart’s face. She wondered if someday he’d be willing to tell her more about what had happened. All she could do now was to make sure he knew she loved him, even though his mother was no longer living. She could not replace his mother—she knew no one could—but she could, someday, make him a good wife. She was at least determined to try.

After they had eaten, everyone felt rather lethargic, with the warmth of the sun on their backs and the hot food. To keep from falling asleep, Heyes started to sing, with Kid soon joining in. It was a song Paula had heard them sing only once before, an odd little tune of which the first words were “’Tis the gift to be simple.” The words sounded like they had been written in some kind of a Christian context, even though the name of God was not mentioned, nor any quotations from the Bible used. Curious where they had learned it, she made a mental note to ask the boys about the song, perhaps after they had saddled up and were on the road again. Listening carefully, she was able to join in when Heyes began the second repetition. 

’Tis the gift to be simple,  
’Tis the gift to be free,  
’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,  
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,  
’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.  
When true simplicity is gained,  
To bow and to bend we will not be ashamed.  
To turn, to turn, will be our delight,  
And by turning, turning, we come ’round right.[3]

“I’ve got a song,” Paula offered, “if I can remember the words. It’s an old Scottish song written in the early part of this century by a man named Robert Tannahill. The song is called ‘The Braes of Balquhidder.’ I think it will need a little bit of modifying, to make it fit so I can sing it to you.” She was looking at Heyes as she spoke; becoming aware of this, she added hastily, “We can all sing the chorus, I think. You fellows can say ‘lassie’ instead of ‘laddie’.”

_She wants to sing to me_? Heyes smiled. “Go ahead. I’d like—we’d like to hear it.”

Revising the words a little as she went, and improvising a repeated chorus[4] for the old tune, Paula began:

Oh, the summer time has come  
And the trees are sweetly bloomin’  
And the wild mountain thyme  
Grows around the bloomin’ heather  
Will ye go, laddie, go?  
And we’ll all go together  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin’ heather  
Will ye go, laddie (lassie), go?

I will build my love a bower  
By yon cool crystal fountain  
And round it I will pile  
All the wild flowers o’ the mountain  
Will ye go, laddie, go?  
And we’ll all go together  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin’ heather  
Will ye go, laddie (lassie), go?

I will range through the wilds  
And the deep glen sae dreary  
And return wi’ their spoils  
Tae the bower o’ my dearie  
Will ye go, laddie, go?  
And we’ll all go together  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin’ heather  
Will ye go, laddie (lassie), go?

If my true love comes nae more  
Then I’ll never take another  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin’ heather  
Will ye go, laddie, go? 

She paused before the last chorus, and held up her hand so that Heyes and Kid would not join in. Looking at Heyes, she finished, very slowly:

And we’ll both go together  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin’ heather  
Will ye go, laddie, go?[5]

Curry leaned back against his saddle, eyes half closed, enjoying the familiar Celtic sound of the music. He didn’t know the song, but it reminded him, somehow, of songs that his mother and father had sung when he was small. Suddenly he noticed that there was no sound, none at all. Opening his eyes, he looked over at Heyes in some consternation. His partner and Miss Wellington were gazing into one another’s eyes, seemingly transfixed by the words and haunting melody. As far as Kid could determine, neither seemed to be breathing. Quickly, he swung into a song of his own.

There was a tree   
Down in the wood   
The prettiest tree   
That you ever did see   
Now, the tree in a hole   
And the hole in the ground   
And the green grass grew all around, all around  
And the green grass grew all around.  
  
And on that tree   
There was a limb   
The prettiest limb   
That you ever did see   
Oh, the limb on the tree,   
And the tree in a hole,   
And the hole in the ground   
And the green grass grew all around, all around  
And the green grass grew all around.  
  
And on that limb   
There was a branch   
The prettiest branch   
That you ever did see   
Oh, the branch on the limb,   
And the limb on the tree,   
And the tree in a hole,   
And the hole in the ground   
And the green grass grew all around, all around  
And the green grass grew all around.  
  
And on that branch  
There was a nest  
The prettiest nest  
That you ever did see   
Oh, the nest on the branch,   
And the branch on the limb,   
And the limb on the tree,   
And the tree in a hole,   
And the hole in the ground   
And the green grass grew all around, all around  
And the green grass grew all around.  
  
And in that nest  
There was an egg  
The prettiest egg   
That you ever did see   
Now, the egg in the nest,   
And the nest on the branch,   
And the branch on the limb,   
And the limb on the tree,   
And the tree in a hole,   
And the hole in the ground   
And the green grass grew all around, all around  
And the green grass grew all around.

Before the ridiculous song had gone very far, Heyes had taken a deep breath and joined in; by the time they were halfway through, Paula was singing with them. 

As they finished, she was laughing. “But that’s based on a Scottish song—or, no, I believe it’s Irish—called ‘The Rattlin’ Bog.’ I’ve never heard it sung that way before.”

Heyes and Kid looked at one another. “Bogs don’t rattle,” objected Heyes.

“No. They squish,” added Kid.

Laughing merrily, Paula responded, “No, that’s not what that means. It means it’s a really good sort of bog, a splendid bog. Shall I?” She began to sing, with such infectious enthusiasm that the two outlaws readily joined in by the second verse.

And the bog down in the valley-o!  
Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now in this bog there was a tree  
A rare tree, a rattlin’ tree  
Tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now on this tree there was a limb  
A rare limb, a rattlin’ limb  
Limb on the tree  
And the tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now on this limb there was a branch  
A rare branch, a rattlin’ branch  
Branch on the limb  
And the limb on the tree  
And the tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now on this branch there was a twig  
A rare twig, a rattlin’ twig  
Twig on the branch  
And the branch on the limb  
And the limb on the tree  
And the tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now on this twig there was a leaf  
A rare leaf, a rattlin’ leaf  
Leaf on the twig  
And the twig on the branch  
And the branch on the limb  
And the limb on the tree  
And the tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now on this leaf there was a nest  
A rare nest, a rattlin’ nest  
Nest on the leaf  
And the leaf on the twig  
And the twig on the branch  
And the branch on the limb  
And the limb on the tree  
And the tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o!

Now in this nest there was an egg  
A rare egg, a rattlin’ egg  
Egg in the nest  
And the nest on the leaf  
And the leaf on the twig  
And the twig on the branch  
And the branch on the limb  
And the limb on the tree  
And the tree in the bog  
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Ho ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o  
A rare bog, a rattlin’ bog, a bog down in the valley-o![6]

Laughing, and running short of breath, the three of them repeated the chorus one more time together.

_Well, that worked_ , Kid thought. _Y’know, this chaperon job is gonna be harder than I thought_. He uncrossed his legs and stood up. “We’d better saddle up and get going.”

When Paula started to rise, Heyes waved her back. “We’ll do it. You did the cooking.”

As he set the saddle in place and tightened his cinch, he looked over his horse’s back at his cousin. “Thanks.”

“Had to do somethin’. I don’t think you were breathin’, either one of you.”

“Yeah. That song about the wild mountain thyme—it’s beautiful. I’d like to see the heather, and pick the thyme—I guess it grows wild over there.” His mischievous smile dawned. “But I think the words could be taken more ’n’ one way.” 

“She didn’t know that, Heyes. And you don’t need to explain it to her.”

Heyes grinned. “Oh, I’ll explain it to her—but it’ll have to wait until after we’re married. Maybe some day, we can go over to Scotland and see the heather, and … well, take advantage of it. If we ever get that far.” His smile faded. “You know, Kid, it kinda scares me. She’s so innocent. I’m almost afraid to think of touching her, maybe frightening her. Miss O’More’s not like that.”

Slipping the bridle onto his bay gelding’s head, Kid shook his head. “No. I don’t know what it is, but something’s happened to Lillie. Someone’s hurt her. Maybe some man threw her over, and that’s why she came out West. I can’t imagine anybody bein’ betrothed to her and then goin’ off with somebody else, but it must have been somethin’ like that. I don’t think she trusts anybody very much, especially men. I still can’t get over her trustin’ us the way she did.”

They loaded the baggage on the pack horse, and Heyes led the black over to where Paula waited. She gathered the reins in her hand, and he clasped his hands for her foot and assisted her into the saddle. “We’d better push on if we want to sleep in a hotel tonight. We spent a little too much time over lunch.” He smiled. “But it was fun. And thank you for that song, Paula—the one about the wild mountain thyme. I’d like to hear it again sometime, maybe learn it.”

* * *

[1] In the late Victorian period, terms such as “stallion,” referring to intact male animals, were not used in mixed company, nor by ladies even when speaking to family members. Such euphemisms as “gentleman horse” were common.

[2] The procedure used in Devil’s Hole will be described to Paula later, in the story “Idaho Springs, 1881” by R. K. MacBride, to be found here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768204/chapters/3783331>

[3] These are not quite the original words written by Elder Brackett in 1848 for use by his Shaker community, but they are the words Heyes sang to the Jordan family in the second-season episode “The Posse That Wouldn’t Quit.”

[4] Certain features of this improvisation were actually done by Francis McPeake in 1957; at least, he copyrighted his version at that time, but McPeake said that he got the idea from a song he heard in Scotland, clearly a version of “The Braes of Balquhidder.” It’s therefore very possible that someone could have thought of modifying Tannahill’s song in this way much earlier; it’s also possible that Tannahill’s version was itself modified from an earlier song. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_Mountain_Thyme>

[5] The Corries have a good version here, using an extra verse from Tannahill’s original song. The reaction of their audience as the people sing along with them shows that it is possible to take the song in a romantic way, as McPeake intended, rather than in a suggestive way. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVQkdV4GwLc>

[6] Here is a good version by The Corries, with a little bit of a fandango as an introduction, and an enthusiastic audience participating. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWYlJShFR5Y>


	3. Arrival in Estes Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes and his party arrive in Estes Park, Colorado. Hoping for a translation of the Gaelic phrases in the letter he carries, Heyes makes some surprising discoveries. But why does someone at the ranch know Heyes's and Curry's real names?

**Lyons and Estes Park, Colorado, February 14th, 1881**

Having taken the train from Albuquerque, then changed trains in Denver for Boulder, Heyes, Curry, and Miss Paula Wellington disembarked and saw to the unloading of their horses from the stock car. 

After they had arrived in Lyons, 16 miles north of Boulder, and had eaten a late breakfast at a small café which catered to the stage traffic, Miss Wellington led the way to the stage station at the north-western edge of Lyons. 

“From here, there are two roads we could take—this toll road, which goes up to Estes Park along the line of Bear Creek, and the Stone Mountain road, which is a little longer. It follows the course of the South St. Vrain, going through Allen’s Park.” She indicated the start of the road off to the left. “The unfortunate thing, if one had to leave the area of the Park in a hurry, is that both of these roads arrive at roughly the same location. I’ll show you when we get there.” Drawing her reticule from the saddlebag, she looked questioningly at Heyes. “If you’ve no objection to spending the money, I suppose we’d do best to take the toll road. It makes for a quicker trip. We can cover the twenty miles between here and the Estes Park post office in about four hours.”

Heyes nodded. “You’re the one who knows this area. Lead the way. I know you must be anxious to see your home again after three months.” He exchanged glances with his partner, out of habit, but Kid had no objection to taking the toll road and saw no reason to comment, simply nodding to Heyes and pushing his horse forward.

With the late afternoon sun of winter behind them, the three riders crested the ridge that blocked the eastern end of the great, undulating expanse of meadow and scrub vegetation that formed the mountain park, named after early settler Joel Estes, who had built a cabin in the centre of the valley, at its lowest point. Heyes thought he had rarely seen such good grazing land. There was no difficulty understanding why a horse ranch and three cattle ranches had already been started here, with more ranchers and homesteaders arriving each year. And since the beauty of the location had been described in several popular articles in the _Rocky Mountain News_ , visitors swelled the local population every summer, much to the annoyance, Heyes guessed shrewdly, of the permanent residents. There had even been one serious attempt at a land grab, engineered by an Irish nobleman who had hoped to make the area into a private hunting preserve for himself and his friends.[1] Though Lord Dunraven was now gone, his actions had made matters difficult for others coming in from outside the country, hoping to settle there, including the Wellingtons, their housekeeper Ellen Ramsay, and her sons.

Miss Wellington pointed to the southeast, indicating the Stone Mountain road coming in from Allen’s Park. “Over there,” she continued, pointing due south, “is St. Mary’s Lake, and a trail that winds south along the Front Range towards Central City. Then, on the north side, there are two more trails—five exits from the valley in all. And our ranch is up that direction.” She gestured to the northeast end, backed by peaks and rock formations on the north and west sides, and considerably higher in elevation than the little huddle of buildings which made up the growing town.

“That’s useful,” Curry commented. “You could see riders coming a long way off from up there.”

She nodded. “Not that I think you two are in much danger here, but it’s safer than what you told me Telluride was, as that’s in a box canyon of sorts.” She unfolded a detailed map, indicated the trails she had described, and handed the map to Heyes, who stowed it in his vest pocket. “I hope you can stay at the ranch for a few weeks at least. There’s work, though not as much as there will be later when the mares begin to foal, and my brother will be happy to pay you. Meanwhile, I know he intends for you to be treated as honoured guests.”

“We can stay for a while,” agreed Heyes. “Getting later into the spring, we’ll have to keep an eye out for some other work. I don’t like to stay too long in one place, even this beautiful valley.”

The riders pushed their horses into a canter as the buildings of the C Bar W Ranch came into view at the crest of the hill to the northeast of the tiny settlement of Estes Park. They had passed the turn-off to the cattle ranch belonging to their nearest neighbors, the MacGregors, just half a mile to the west, and Paula had told Heyes and Kid they would be home within the half hour.

The four horses arrived at the hitching rail by the door into the rear of the house almost together, Angus the pack horse being as anxious to get back to familiar places as were Paula and her mount.

Heyes performed a swift English-style dismount, looped his reins over the rail, and went to grasp the lady by the waist and swing her down. It wasn’t strictly necessary, since she wasn’t riding side-saddle, but he liked giving her the little extra attention.

Hearing the approaching hoofbeats, Ellen Ramsay appeared at the doorway, stretching out her hands with a welcoming smile. Paula exchanged a quick hug with her old nurse and led the way into the warmth of the big kitchen.

“Ellen, this is Mr. Joshua Smith and Mr. Thaddeus Jones. They’ll be staying with us for a while. Joshua, Thaddeus, our housekeeper and very dear friend, Mrs. Ramsay.”

Both men removed their hats, offering polite greetings. 

“Ma’am.” 

“Miss Wellington’s told us a lot about you, Mrs. Ramsay.” Heyes drew the letter Wellington had given him from his pocket and stepped forward. “I have a letter of introduction here for you.”

“From Paul?” Paula was startled. “You never mentioned that.” 

“Well, the letter’s addressed to Mrs. Ramsay, not to you,” replied Heyes, amused. His eyes returned to Ellen Ramsey, trying to judge what kind of an impression he was making. 

> Carrizo Springs, Texas, January 28th∫81
> 
> My dear Ellen,
> 
> This letter will introduce Mr Joshua Smith and Mr Thaddeus Jones, who are escorting Paula home from Texas whilst I attend to business in Laredo. I expect to be home by the end of February. 
> 
> Paula and Mr Smith have entered into an informal betrothal, the details of which she will no doubt be happy to tell you in her own way. He and his partner are accordingly to be treated as family. They may be lodged in the east wing near my bedchamber. You will, I know, take care to chaperone her as is usual when we have house guests.
> 
> _Na bitheadh eagal ort, a dh’Eilidh. Am fear dorcha, ‘s e am fear ceart a th’ann. ‘S e an duine air an robh i a’ feitheamh. Agus tha gràdh mór an cridhe agaibh air a chéile._
> 
> I rely on you to make them welcome at the ranch until I return. 
> 
> _le deagh dhùrachd_ _,_
> 
> Paul A. Wellington

Ellen read the first part of the short letter through, glancing up at the two men and then back at the paper in her hands. Suddenly she caught her breath on a soft exclamation in a language that Heyes did not recognize; presumably that was what Gaelic sounded like, he thought.

Paula turned from the stove, where she had been about to pour hot water into a pot for tea. “What is it, Ellen?’

“My precious lamb!” the older woman exclaimed. “Surely … _Chan e e-fhein a th’ann_?”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Paula nodded, stammering, “Oh, _‘s e. ‘S e, gu cinnteach.”_ Overcome, she pressed her hands to her cheeks for a moment, caught sight of Heyes watching her in concern, blushed more rosily still, and fled from the room. A moment later they heard a door close in the inner part of the house.

Heyes took counsel of his cousin with a quick look. “Precious lamb?” he said in a low tone. “Did Paula ever strike you as a lamb?” As Kid shook his head, Heyes continued to worry about the message in Gaelic, not to mention the short conversation he had just heard. _I’ve got to find out what was in that letter_. He saw Mrs. Ramsay’s face light up with a welcoming smile, and drew a relieved breath. _At least she’s not mad at us._ “Mrs. Ramsay? Is she—Miss Wellington—is she all right?”

“Och, yes, she’s only a wee bit shy just now. She’ll have gone to her room in the west wing, and will be coming out when she is ready, the poor dear.” Not giving the men time to reply, Ellen added, “I’ll show you to your rooms. This way.” She led the way through a door into a square, wood-panelled stairwell and opened a door on the left, disclosing a passageway leading away from the main part of the house at an angle to the east.

Wordlessly, the cousins followed, stepping from the passageway into a good-sized room with a bed, a comfortable chair, a wardrobe, and a wash-stand. A respectable fire was burning on the small hearth, and everything seemed ready for a guest, the result, Heyes guessed, of Paula having wired ahead from Boulder that morning to say she was coming home with two men escorting her. Mrs. Ramsay opened a door in the southeast wall, disclosing another bedchamber, equally well-prepared. “These two rooms are yours,” she said, looking from one man to the other. “Mr. Heyes, and…” she looked at Kid questioningly, “Mr. Curry, isn’t it? Come back to the kitchen as soon as you’ve washed up. I’ve hot scones in the oven, almost ready to come out. And there is fresh coffee, as well as the tea. Supper willna be for two hours yet.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Curry exchanged another glance with his partner, who had frozen in dismay at the use of their true names. “We’ll be right there.” He watched as the motherly Scottish woman, her sandy hair just starting to show grey at the temples, bustled back down the corridor to the connecting door. “Heyes, I think we’ve got a good thing here. Hot water, good fires, and now she wants to feed us.”

“Yeah. But I’ve got to get her to tell me what that letter said—the part of it I couldn’t read. What would have made Paula react that way?”

“Ask Mrs. Ramsay,” replied Kid, peaceably. “She likes you.”

“That’s probably a good thing. You’re awful calm about it, considering she just called us Heyes and Curry!”

“Well, not much we can do about that now, is there?” As usual, Curry’s reaction was eminently sensible. “She don’t appear to be plannin’ to turn us in.”

“No, but how’d she know? I can’t read Gaelic, but I know our names weren’t in the letter.”

“Could have been half a dozen other things in there, though. Quit your worryin’ and get a clean shirt on. That coffee’ll be gettin’ cold, and the scones. You know, Heyes—kind of like biscuits.”

Chuckling in spite of the alarm he couldn’t quite suppress, Heyes pulled off his travel-stained vest, shirt, and undershirt, poured hot water into a basin, and laid out his razor and shaving-tackle, making a lather with his shaving brush. He extracted a clean shirt from his saddlebags and began to shave. His cousin vanished into the other bedchamber, whence splashing sounds presently proclaimed that he was similarly engaged.

A surprisingly short time later, the two outlaws made their way back to the kitchen, still occupied, Heyes noted, only by Mrs. Ramsay. _Well, it’ll give me a chance to ask her some questions_. He took a seat at the big side table, where cups and plates and a pot of coffee had already been placed ready for them. 

Bringing a bowl, covered with a napkin and hot enough to necessitate the use of a dish towel to protect her hands, Mrs. Ramsay came to the table. “There’s fresh butter and a pot of jam on the counter. I didn’t put sugar in these scones, as Miss Paula doesn’t care for them sweet.” 

Kid stopped, in the act of sitting down, and retrieved the two articles she had mentioned, setting them down on the table within reach of their plates. “Ma’am, don’t wait on us.” He looked up at her encouragingly. “Sit down and help us eat some of this.” Heyes looked up and smiled, mutely seconding his partner’s invitation.

Mrs. Ramsay was not immune to the devastating charm in that smile, any more than she was indifferent to Kid Curry’s seemingly relaxed friendliness. She obligingly seated herself and lifted the napkin from the bowl, revealing the hot scones. Looking speculatively from one man to the other, she began to butter a scone. Seeing Hannibal Heyes for the first time in person, she thought it was easy to understand what had attracted Paula’s attention to him two and a half years earlier. But one did not fall in love with a charming smile, after all; surely Paula knew that. In fact, the charm would be a good warning, taken alone, that this was the sort of man around whom a lady would have to be very careful. Ellen hoped that between them, she and Mrs. Robert Campbell-Wellington, the twins’ mother, had taught their charge to beware of charming men.

She returned Heyes’s smile. “I hope your bedchambers were satisfactory.” She didn’t have to ask if the scones were equally satisfactory, as they were already vanishing at an impressive rate.

“Yes,” Heyes responded. “Everything’s so well arranged—I hope we’re not putting someone out of his bed, like Paul Wellington. Even though he’s not here. I know he’s going to try to come home as soon as he can manage.”

“His room is at the far end of the corridor in the same wing you’re in. Those two rooms are kept for male guests, when we have any.”

“Ma’am?” Heyes was not sure where to start, and hesitated after this promising opening. He decided to just go ahead and explain that. Surely she’d understand. He saw Mrs. Ramsay put down her scone and give him her attention. “I wanted to ask you—I’m not sure how to put this….”

“Just say it out, Heyes,” drawled Kid.

“Well, that’s just it. Paula … uh, Miss Wellington … introduced us to you by our aliases, that we’ve been using ever since we went straight over a year ago. But you knew our real names. It was kind of a shock, because, well, since you know who we are, you probably know we’re still wanted by the law, even though we’re not robbing trains and banks any more.”

“Och, I’m truly sorry! I never thought of that. I hardly ever go out, into the town, and when I go, I take no notice of wanted posters and such like. I didna realize you were still wanted; in fact, I’d not thought about it much one way or another. I never meant to worry you.”

“I don’t think our wanted posters are up at the post office, and your local marshal doesn’t really have a proper office, does he?” _And if he does, I hope he doesn’t have our posters up._ “No way you’d have known,” Curry reassured her.

“What I want to know,” persisted Heyes, taking a quick gulp of his coffee and savoring the freshly-made taste in spite of his anxiety, “is how you knew our names at all. They weren’t mentioned in that letter. Did Paula tell you some other time? I guess what I wanted to ask, besides that, is, well, would you tell me what was in that letter that wasn’t in English? Please? It’s important.” He favored her with his best pleading smile.

“Och, well, the answers to those two questions are tangled up together. She—Miss Paula—did indeed tell me who you were, but it was in July of 1878, right after she and Mr. Paul came home from that business trip to Wyoming, where they got a chance to see the total solar eclipse. She told me you and your gang stopped the train they were on, just east of Rawlins.”

“Oh.” Heyes was embarrassed. This did not seem the moment to brag about their success as train robbers, as they had once done with Lom Trevors. He stole a quick look at Kid, who just grinned at him.

“Of course, if that had been all, I wouldna ha’e given it another thought. It was the other thing she told me that made me remember. So then when I read this letter”—she paused to draw it out of the pocket of her apron and unfold it— “I knew right away.” She frowned in the effort to translate the phrases from her native tongue into acceptable English.

 _Something’s missing from that_ , thought Heyes. _What else did Paula tell her? I know that hold-up after the eclipse is how she recognized me when she saw me again last November, but …_ what _other thing? Well, at least I’m getting a translation._

“Mr. Paul says here, ‘Don’t be afraid, Ellen. The dark man—it’s the right man that is in him.’ I’m sorry. I don’t really know how to say that in English.” She looked up. “And ‘the right man’ is underscored. Let’s see: ‘He’s the one she was waiting for. And they already have great love in their hearts for each other.’ That’s the most of it.”

Heyes flushed a little in spite of himself. “‘The one she was waiting for’? So then you knew it was me?”

“Yes. Also because I asked her when I saw that, just a wee while ago. I said, ‘It’s never _himself_ , then?’ You saw her reaction—she said yes, and went to her room to be alone for a bit. So then I knew you must be Hannibal Heyes, whom she had told me about years ago.”

“Ah.” That explained a lot.

“And your partner,” continued Mrs. Ramsay, “och, I wasna certain, because Miss Paula didna speak of you at all, Mr. Curry, but Mr. Paul told me, when he was telling us about the hold-up, that the lawman in the next town to Rawlins said that Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry always rode together. He didna say what your Christian name was.”

“It’s Jedidiah. Jed, for short. It’s not on the wanted poster, so the lawmen don’t know. I don’t mind if you call me Jed, or ‘Kid’, for that matter—everyone else does. I always think ‘Mr. Curry’ is my Pa.” Curry smiled, and poured himself another cup of coffee. “I doubt Miss Wellington would have mentioned me. I don’t think she saw me, during the hold-up, even though I helped her down from the train when we took the passengers off. She was lookin’ at Heyes.”

“Kid, never mind about that.” Heyes had heard that story before—it had afforded his partner a great deal of amusement on the trail, back in November—and he was impatient. “I want to hear what Paula _did_ tell you. Something special, you said.”

“Aye, but I’m no’ so certain I should tell you,” replied Ellen, shrewdly. “It might not be good for you to know. Tell me. You are really betrothed? Or is it not decided yet?” She had noticed the amethyst and silver ring on Paula’s hand, and though it was quite pretty, she knew somehow that it was not a proper betrothal ring. For one thing, an amethyst would be a very unusual stone to select for that purpose. “That ring …”

“Is a promise ring, Mrs. Ramsay.” Heyes welcomed the opportunity to explain himself. He knew it was desperately important to make a good impression, to win this woman’s approval. If she decided she didn’t like him, he supposed it was possible she could talk Paula into giving him up. “It’s a custom Kid told me about, from the South, where he used to live. If a couple can’t become properly engaged because they’re too young, or they can’t get her father’s consent, or he’s going off to war, or something …”

“Aye?”

“Well, he gives her a promise ring, meaning that he promises to ask her formally later, when he can arrange it. And she wears the ring to show she’s spoken for. It’s less binding than a betrothal, and, see, I don’t want her to tie herself up to me in a formal betrothal while I’m still wanted. I could go to prison, or get shot by a bounty hunter, any time, and where would that leave her?” He glanced quickly at Kid, and decided to go ahead with the secret. The woman who had been almost a substitute mother to the lady he planned to marry had to know the truth about the amnesty. There was no getting around that. “The governor of Wyoming has promised us an amnesty, but we have to go straight for a while first to prove we can do it. The betrothal should really wait until we get the amnesty. Anyway, Paula agreed to that, and I got her that ring down in El Paso. The amethyst is supposed to mean ‘sincerity’, according to a book on gems I saw. Just so she knows I mean it.” He smiled ruefully. “After the mess I made of things while we were down in Laredo, I wanted to make sure she knew that.”

Ellen Ramsay was nodding thoughtfully. “You wanted her to have a way out? And yourself?”

“Yes, I … she needs to be able to get out of this if she wants to. I’m not lookin’ for any way out for me. I meant what I said, when I asked her to marry me. We’re just gonna have to wait a while, that’s all.” He favored Ellen with another crooked smile, as charming as he could manage. “So do I get to hear what else Paula told you about me?” 

He was nothing if not persistent, thought Ellen. “Mr. Heyes,” she replied severely, “ye dinna have to try so hard.” She took pity on him. “I will tell you a little.”

“All right, all right,” protested Heyes, giving his partner a sharp look as Kid began to chuckle. “I promise to behave, if you’ll call me Heyes.” At her look of surprise, he added, “I don’t use my given name much. Or you could just use ‘Joshua’. You’ll have to remember to use ‘Joshua’ and ‘Thaddeus’ if anybody else comes in, anyway. I suppose there are men who work here.”

Ellen nodded. “Aye, but two of them are my boys—my sons, who came here with us as lads. And the other’s Roy Lennox, the foreman, who’s a Scot—well, his parents are from Appin, though he was born here—he’s been with us since the ranch was started.” She folded up several of the scones in a damp napkin and put them aside in another bowl which had been warming in the oven. Filling a small kettle with water, she put it on one of the stove lids to heat and returned to the table, hesitating as she tried to decide how much to say. If Paula had decided that only this man would suit her, he had a right to know what had led up to that.

“When the twins came home that July, both of them told me about the eclipse, and the hold-up of the train, and all the excitement. Then Mr. Paul went to see to the horses. I looked at Miss Paula, and she was very pale. There were tears in her eyes. She told me that she had not exchanged a word with you, and she thought you had not seen her, as you were busy with other tasks …”

“She was right. I didn’t see her. Probably a good thing, because if I’d recognized either of them when we met in Denver last November, I wouldn’t have accepted the job Wellington offered—we do try to stay clear of folks who might remember us holding up trains—and I’d never have gotten to know her.”

Nodding, Ellen continued, “She said, ‘Ellen, he’s an outlaw. Not engaged in any respectable occupation, not at all the sort of man I’d care to become better acquainted with, and … and I’ll never see him again! Not that I want to!’ Then she burst into tears, and told me she couldna understand what it was that the dear Lord was trying to tell her, drawing her attention to you that way. I was trying to comfort her, though I didna understand it myself, and I saw, in my mind—you see, gentlemen, I have the sight. Ye’ll no’ be understandin’ that, but …”

“But we—I do,” interrupted Kid, with a startled glance at his cousin. My Pa, and his Ma—they were Irish, their parents were born in the old country, and I know what the second sight is. You remember, Heyes, your Ma, my aunt Maureen—she’d know things without bein’ told, and she said sometimes it was because she had the sight.”

“I remember,” said Heyes, slowly. He looked back at Mrs. Ramsay. “So what did you see, ma’am?”

“I saw you, here, in this house, being made welcome like a member of the family.”

Kid whistled softly.

“I told Miss Paula that whatever it was that the good Lord had in mind, apparently He meant to arrange things so she would indeed see you again, and not whilst holding up a train, either. She asked me to pray about the whole matter, and that I have done, but we have never spoken of it since. And now you are here.”

Heyes, a little awed by this disclosure, for once found nothing to say. It was hard for him to grasp the idea that he might be the answer to somebody’s prayers—that was almost ludicrous. He was more open to the idea that his current understanding with Paula might be the result of a Highland woman’s second sight than he was to the uncomfortable thought that God was interfering in his life. 

Hearing the door open behind him, he turned to see Paula entering the kitchen. She had changed her riding habit for a dinner dress of dark blue silk with a small floral pattern all over it in a lighter blue. He rose quickly to offer her a chair, but she was looking at Mrs. Ramsey.

“ _Bha thu aca dh’innseadh mu dheidhinn do dh’aisling_?—You told them about your seeing?”

“Yes. I thought he—Heyes—should know,” replied Ellen composedly, in English as a courtesy to their visitors. “After the answer you gave me, I knew who they must be, and I fear I startled them by calling them Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry when I showed them to their rooms. Heyes wanted to know how I knew who they were, so I told him a little—what we talked of that day.” She gestured to the bowl on the counter. “I put aside the scones to keep warm for you, and there is hot water to make fresh tea.”

Paula nodded. “Oh, thank you. I completely forgot about the tea, I fear.” She lifted the pot of hot water from the stove, used a splash of it to warm the teapot, poured that out and dried the pot, then began to spoon tea into it.

Meanwhile, a slender sorrel-colored cat, with faint tabby markings on its face and paws and an unusual-looking ticked coat, had entered the kitchen and, sniffing appreciatively, had leaped onto the table to investigate the butter dish.

With a soft exclamation, Paula set down the teapot, came over to the table, and gently removed the interloper, turning the youngster upside-down in her arms and planting a kiss on its forehead. With the cat in that position, it became apparent that she was holding an adolescent tom cat. 

Paula kissed the cat’s face again before putting him firmly on the floor, gently scolding him for being on the table. She looked up. “I don’t want to frighten him by shouting at him.” she explained.

Plaintively, Heyes suggested, “If you feel like kissing a fellow, I’m available.” For a brief moment, the other three in the room simply stared at him. Instantly, Heyes substituted a cheerful, innocent smile for the plaintive look.

Eyeing her betrothed with a certain amount of exasperation, Paula walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders, looking up into his face. He kissed her—a long, gentle kiss—then pulled a chair out and seated her. Quickly whisking up his plate and coffee cup, he took them over to the sink, picked up the bowl of scones and the teapot, and returned to the table. 

Ellen got a clean cup and refilled the cream jug, bending to say softly into Paula’s ear, “He’s a rogue, that one.”

Paula nodded. “Oh, yes. That’s if you mean Heyes, and not the kitten. Come to think of it, I suppose they both are.” She watched as Heyes filled her cup, putting the cream into the cup before pouring the tea, as he had learned how to do when dining with her and her brother. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She helped herself to a scone, wondering if he had heard what Ellen had said. If he had, it would probably have the unfortunate result of encouraging him in more misbehavior. “You two don’t want to eat too much now, or you won’t be hungry for supper, which Ellen usually tries to have ready at about seven.”

Kid could not remember an occasion when he had not been hungry for supper, and said so. “Besides, we couldn’t be rude and leave these scones, when Mrs. Ramsay must have baked them just for us.”

*** *** ***

Later, Paula showed Heyes and Kid around the house, and took them out to the stable buildings so they could see where their horses were housed. This also gave them an opportunity to make the acquaintance of two Arabian mares, a Morgan mare, and the six-horse Friesian hitch. All of the big black Dutch horses were very friendly and readily came to the fence to greet the strangers. One of them was accompanied by a foal. 

Friesian mare and foal

Both men were impressed with the well-kept stables and the arrangements for supervising mares near their foaling time. Heyes commented, “It doesn’t look like there’s much work for us to do. Usually, in the winter, fences and barns and other buildings have to be mended. We’ve done that kind of work; in fact, we’re not bad at it, but everything’s in such good shape here.”

“Roy will be very happy to hear you say that. He looks after this part of the ranch work year-round, but he’s on his own when we go to Texas in the winters, so a lot of what you see is due to his diligence. Paul and I were very, very blessed to find him, back in 1872 when we first planned to file homestead claims on this property. We were not even twenty-one at the time, and we desperately needed a good manager—someone who would be willing to help us build what we had planned here, and take a permanent position without any prospects. And we found out that, according to the Homestead Act, neither Ellen nor we were eligible to file the initial claims. Roy did it for us, in return for a guarantee of continued employment and foreman’s wages. He said that suited him just fine. And he’s a Scot—well, an American Scot—so he fits right in, with Ellen being a Highlander, as our mother was, and her boys being born in Argyle as we were. I only found out later that he didn’t really think the job had no prospects. From his point of view, it had plenty of prospects. He’s hoping to marry Ellen, if she’ll have him. He’s been waiting for her nine years now.”

“Nine years?” Heyes asked. “Isn’t she willing?”

“As a matter of fact she is, but she’s told him she’ll not agree to be married whilst I still need her, or at least she thinks I still need her. So Roy will probably be most happy to make your acquaintance, Heyes, and shake your hand, once he hears why you’re here.”

“Oh, I get it. You won’t need Ellen any more if you’re going to be married.”

“That’s it, yes. Of course, she’ll still be here, willing to help with the housework, I hope, because I’m dreadful at that sort of thing, but I won’t need her as a chaperone, or as a substitute for my mother.” She smiled at Heyes. “When we go back into the house, you’ll find that she’ll have moved her things into the west wing, into the bedchamber next to mine. That’s just to ensure that all is proper—it’s not that she suspects you of having designs on my virtue.”

“You mean you don’t _think_ she suspects me of that,” corrected Heyes. “She may well—she doesn’t know me, after all.”

“You mentioned her boys.” Kid was curious, but he also wanted to find out how dangerous it was likely to be for them, if there were a lot of ranch hands, some of whom might be interested in collecting the rewards on Heyes and Curry if anyone were to recognize them. Normally Heyes would make himself responsible for worrying about such things, but he was a little distracted, Kid had noticed. In fact, he’d been distracted since they left Laredo. “How old are they? I mean, are they still just boys? Do you have any other hands here?”

“They’re—let me see—they’d be eighteen and twenty years of age now. I still think of them as boys, and of course their mother does as well, but they’re men grown, or very nearly so. And except for our very busy time in the early summer, when the new foals must be handled regularly, they and Roy are our only permanent hands. We often hire youngsters in June, preferably girls, from local families. It depends on how many foals we have.”

It had been a warm day for mid-February, but as the afternoon advanced, the sun slipped behind Hallett’s Peak to the southwest, and the temperature began to fall rapidly. The party returned to the house after checking on their horses. Efficiently, though Heyes and Kid had not caught sight of Roy Lennox or the Ramsay boys since their arrival, the four horses had been stabled in the range of stalls closest to the house, unsaddled, rubbed down, and fed with hay and an extra ration of grain, all while they themselves had been in the house, getting cleaned up and enjoying scones and coffee.

Learning that the whole complement of the ranch—Paula, themselves, Mrs. Ramsay and her sons, and Roy Lennox—would be eating supper in the big dining room, the two outlaws pitched in and helped to make ready, setting the table and carrying dishes across the back passageway leading to the door into the stable yard. The two women worked alongside them, retrieving food from the oven and the pantry, and making fresh coffee and tea.

“Ellen and I can tend to everything, Heyes. You don’t have to do that,” Paula admonished him. “You should just go on in and sit down. We’re about ready to ring the triangle.”

“We’re makin’ you extra work. Of course we should help,” replied Heyes. “Kid, have you got that coffee pot?” He turned from looking toward the doorway to the kitchen, and realized that the big outer door to the yard was standing wide open. Two young men with reddish hair and blue eyes, very obviously brothers, and resembling their mother strongly, stood in the passageway, and behind them, just shutting the door, was a man in his mid-forties, with a weather-beaten face, dark hair, and hazel eyes. As Heyes looked from one to the other, realizing it was possible they had just heard everything that had been said, Lennox and the younger men hung their hats and heavy coats on pegs and walked forward to greet the visitors.

“Everyone come into the dining room and I’ll make the introductions,” suggested Paula. When they had all complied, she gestured them to seats: herself on one end of the table, as usual, Ellen and Roy across from one another with Ellen on the side closest to the door leading to the kitchen, the Ramsay boys beside one another further down, and an empty chair at the head of the table where her brother Paul usually sat. She placed Heyes on her right so he could have more room for his left hand at the corner of the table, with Kid beside him. “Roy, would you ask the blessing?”

Lennox nodded, bowed his head, and led in a brief prayer of thanksgiving for the food and the safe arrival of the travellers, adding a request for a blessing on the hands that had prepared the meal. 

Before they sat down, Paula looked around, gathering everyone’s attention. “Joshua, Thaddeus, this is Roy Lennox, our foreman, and this is Jamie Ramsay and Dougal Ramsay. Gentlemen, my guests, Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones. And I am happy to announce to all of you that Joshua and I have entered into an understanding to wed. Nothing is settled formally yet, but promises have been made to that effect.”

The men shook hands all round, the Ramsays and Roy Lennox murmuring surprised congratulations as they shook hands with Heyes. Then Heyes seated Paula, while Dougal, the younger Ramsay, seated his mother.

“And I’m sorry,” added Paula. “I believe that these two young men are now going by the names Jim and Doug, only I keep forgetting that.”

“That’s all right, Aunt Paula,” Jamie responded. “Mum never remembers, either.”

“Jim and Doug it is, then,” said Kid. “A man should be called what he wants to be called.” He noticed that this comment caused the Ramsays to look at one another with expressions he couldn’t quite interpret. The next moment it was gone, and Dougal was laughing and thanking him.

Contrary to Heyes’s half-formed expectation, no one commented on their names being Smith and Jones, and no one said a word about having heard the names Heyes and Kid being used, if in fact anyone had noticed that. He still wasn’t sure they had heard anything. He found that Roy was asking about their trip up from Texas, and why Wellington hadn’t accompanied them.

Heyes explained, with a few supporting comments from Kid and Paula, about the gold she had brought back from Mexico, that Captain Parmalee had told them where to find her after she crossed the border at Eagle Pass, and how that had enabled them to rejoin her just in time to fight off an attack by Mexican bandits who had followed her across the river into Texas, intent on stealing the gold.

“Parmalee wouldn’t send you into that kind of danger unescorted,” objected Lennox. “Would he?”

“Well, no,” Paula replied, “but it wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. I rather exceeded my instructions, trying to help the _padre_ of the church in Allende Coahuila. I was glad that Joshua and Thaddeus arrived in time. But then we met up with Paul in Carrizo Springs, and he had to return to Laredo with the documents I had brought from Allende, whilst Joshua had an idea about how to safely dispose of the church gold. He suggested we take it to a business friend of his who owned a ranch near El Paso and had recently married the sister of a rich Mexican _ranchero_.”

Heyes took up the story. “I hoped that Carlota—Mrs. McCreedy—would agree to take the gold to her brother, _Señor_ Armendáriz, the next time she went home to visit. Then Armendáriz could arrange to return it to the church in Allende when it was safe to do so. He might even figure it was his responsibility to do something about the bandits. So Thaddeus and I escorted Miss Wellington to El Paso, and then continued on up this way—no sense in riding hundreds of miles back to Laredo, when she’d be returning to Colorado in a few weeks anyway. The railroad is through to Albuquerque now, so we didn’t have to ride all the way coming back.”

As he said ‘Thaddeus and I’, Heyes saw, out of the corner of his eye, Dougal elbowing his older brother. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see their faces as Jamie turned to look at his brother and whisper a couple of words. _Couldn’t mean anything important_ , Heyes reassured himself. _They’re brothers, after all—they glance at each other as often as Kid and I do, and it looks like they’re just as close as we are. Roy Lennox isn’t having any funny reactions_. Firmly, he put it out of his mind. He went on to explain briefly about finding the amethyst ring in El Paso, and his intent to buy Paula a proper ring later to honor their betrothal. Naturally, he did not give his reasons for delaying the formal betrothal, but none of the men had any comment to make. The Ramsay brothers didn’t even look at each other again.

“When we went out earlier to check on our horses, I saw a dark blue flag with a white X on it flying over the house, beside the American one,” said Kid. “It wasn’t there when we rode in.”

“I ran that up when I put your horses away,” Roy replied. “It’s the Scottish saltire, the cross of St. Andrew. We put it up when either Miss Wellington or her brother are at home. I expect you thought you were eating supper at a horse ranch in Colorado, but you’re really in Scotland now. In fact, you’re in the Highlands. I was just thinkin’ how nice it was to have two more Westerners here, who don’t ‘have the Gaelic’, as they say.”

“Go along with you!” exclaimed Ellen. “It’s not as though we speak it all the time around you, _mo chuisle_.”

“No, of course not.” Roy’s face lit up when she used the endearment, which he knew enough Gaelic to understand. He looked back at Joshua Smith speculatively. Ellen must know more than she was telling about how serious this betrothal was. Calling her long-time suitor ‘my heartbeat’ was surely intended as encouragement—at least, Roy planned to take it that way.

“We’re not Scottish, but we are part Irish, Joshua and me. His mother and my father were sister and brother, and their parents came from Ireland,” Kid supplied, forgetting the disastrous results of his having once announced to an Irishwoman that his grandparents were Irish because they came from Londonderry.

The Ramsay boys had risen to start clearing the table, as that had been their special task since they were children. Jamie looked back from the doorway, his hands full of serving dishes. “But you _are_ part Scottish—both of you, if his mother was your Papa’s sister. Heyes is English, of course, but Curry is a Scottish name, even if you’re not using it right now.” He chuckled, giving his mother a teasing glance. “I suppose, if Mum is going to marry a Stewart, Aunt Paula can marry a MacDonald!” Before anyone could answer, he and Dougal vanished into the kitchen with the dishes.

“A MacDonald!” Paula was startled. She had been thinking so much about Heyes as the man she would eventually marry that she had neglected to consider the implications of his mother having been a Curry. “Well, so you are! The Currys—the name was originally MacMhuirich— _are_ MacDonalds.” Taking note of the two outlaws’ worried expressions, she dragged her mind back to the urgent matter at hand. She knew that no one on the C Bar W was a danger to her guests, but Heyes and Kid had no way of knowing that. _Best to deal with that problem right now_. As Jamie and Dougal came back into the room, she said briskly, “Leave clearing the table until later. I’m calling a ranch meeting. Right now. In the front parlour.” She gestured for Roy and the Ramsays to precede her.

* * *

[1] <https://www.coloradoan.com/story/news/2016/09/04/tale-lord-dunraven-stanley-hotel/89873686/>


	4. Scottish Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospitality is a matter of honor. It may mean the difference, for Heyes and Curry, between freedom and going to jail. And then there is Valentine's Day, which had completely slipped Heyes's mind.

Giving his arm to Ellen, Roy Lennox led the way into the panelled stairwell and through another door on its south side, opening directly into a spacious parlor with wide windows in the south wall, through which the whole expanse of the Park was still visible in the fading light, the landscape reddened by a spectacular alpenglow. 

Sunset on Long’s Peak, with alpenglow. ©Betty Terpstra Photography

Heyes and Kid, with another look at one another, brought up the rear. Heyes gave his left arm to his betrothed so as to keep his gun hand free, though he didn’t really expect to have to use a gun. If there was a need to draw, Kid would see to that, and in any case it was a little late to think about having to fight their way clear of the house. Whatever was going to happen now, they would have to face it head on. He was relieved, in a way, to get this out of the way at the beginning of their visit, rather than having to wonder every day of the next several weeks whether they had given themselves away by some carelessly-spoken word, never knowing whom they could trust. He also had to admit to a fair share of curiosity. A conversation in which Jamie Ramsay had dropped the alarming information that he, and presumably his brother, and possibly Roy Lennox, knew the ranch was entertaining a pair of wanted outlaws, appeared to be vastly amusing to the two young Ramsays, for some unknown reason. 

Heyes also didn’t understand all this business of intermarrying with Stewarts and MacDonalds. He knew that Paul and Paula Wellington were Campbells on their mother’s side, and from what had been said, he guessed that Ellen Ramsay might be a Campbell as well. She came from the same part of Scotland—maybe that made sense. He had, of course, never been told what her maiden name was. And the foreman’s surname was Lennox, not Stewart. He filed those questions away in his mind to ask at another time, assuming they got through the evening without being put under citizens’ arrest, or someone deciding to start shooting.

Everyone took seats in the parlor except Kid Curry, who remained standing, leaning casually against the wooden frame of the interior arch that divided the front parlor from the back one, which was combined with a library. Aware of the tension, Roy seated himself next to Ellen on a settee near the front windows, sternly motioning the irrepressible younger Ramsays to sit and be quiet.

“Aunt Paula?” Dougal was worried. “Did we do something wrong? Jim—Jamie—was just teasing, you know, about the MacDonald connection. We didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad, Doogie,” she replied, using his boyhood nickname. “I really hadn’t given any thought to the Currys being MacDonalds. Ellen won’t be able to fulfill her long-time threat of telling _Mac Cailein Mor_ —the chief of Clan Campbell,” she added in an aside to Heyes—“on me for marrying out of the clan, because she’ll be doing the same thing herself.” She smiled at Ellen, who smiled back before looking at Roy and blushing.

Paula had everyone’s attention now, the Ramsay boys very serious. “As to what you did wrong, I’ll let Heyes tell you that.” Since his name was already out in the open, she thought she might as well use it.

Finding himself, rather to his surprise, in charge of the meeting, Heyes began, “Well, it’s just that my cousin and I are still wanted by the law, with substantial rewards on our heads—even though we went straight over a year ago. We weren’t planning to use our real names here, so we wouldn’t put any of you into the position of tryin’ to decide whether you ought to turn us in, or try to arrest us yourselves. You might feel that it was your duty as a citizen, or maybe you’re interested in collecting those rewards. After all, Mr. Lennox, if you’re planning to be married, you could use the money.”

The foreman leaned forward in his seat, his mouth opening to protest. Heyes stopped him with a lifted hand and went on. “I know it was our fault—Paula used my name, and then I called Kid by his, where you could hear, so I’m not blamin’ you.” His gaze rested on Jamie Ramsay’s anxious face for a moment. “But we don’t intend to let you take us, so I guess what Kid and I need to know is whether we should saddle up and leave right now, and take the temptation out of your way, or whether you’re willing to forget you know who we are, and say nothing. I know Mrs. Ramsay’s willing. What about the rest of you?” He looked at Lennox, then to Dougal and Jamie, and back to the foreman, who he deduced was the most important man in this conversation. Especially if he was soon to be their step-father, the younger men would probably follow his lead.

Paula had involuntarily put her hand out to touch her sweetheart’s arm when he had suggested leaving the ranch that very day. There were things she could say to reassure him and his partner, but she had a feeling they would not be needed. She knew what was going to happen next. It would, however, come better from one of the men, without any prompting from her. 

After a slight silence, during which Roy Lennox thought of so many different things to say that he was left speechless for want of a way to choose between them, he burst out, “Man, you don’t understand! Nobody here would turn you in to the law, not for any consideration. You’re family, after all, or you soon will be.”

“Mr. Heyes, you’d not think that of us?” protested Jamie. “That we’d take blood money? What do you take us for? Some _Sassenach_? An Englishman, I mean? I know you’re half English, and so’s Aunt Paula, but … ah, that’s not what I meant, only that we’re no’ the kind of scoundrels to do sic a thing!” His Highland accent, lost long ago after growing up in America, came to the fore under the stress of the moment.

“Besides,” added Dougal, equally upset, “you’re kin, being betrothed to Aunt Paula. And Mr. Curry—Kid Curry,” he corrected with a quick, awestruck look at Curry, dawning hero worship in his eyes, “well, he’s kin to you, so it’s like Roy says. You’re kin to the folks who own this ranch, whom our mother reared from when they were babies on her knee—before we were born, that was—so you’re kin to us, too. You’re welcome here, as I’m sure Mum has already told you. This is your home.”

“Even if you weren’t kin,” Jamie seconded his brother earnestly, “the duties of this house, the hospitality we owe to a guest …”

“That’s right,” agreed Roy. “I wasn’t born in the Highlands, but my folks were, and they taught me that. It would be a terrible violation of the laws of hospitality to let any harm come to you, after you’ve been welcomed under this roof and shared our food.” 

He stood up, a wary eye on Kid Curry, who had not moved from his seemingly relaxed position, his right hand casually resting on his gun belt, inches from the butt of his Colt. Curry made no sign, so Roy walked across the room to Heyes and held out his hand. By now completely bewildered, and feeling as if he had strayed into a foreign country, Heyes rose to take it.

“I’m not lettin’ anything happen to you, Heyes. It’s thanks to you that Ellen and I will soon be betrothed ourselves. Won’t we?” he added, with a quick look at Ellen.

“Yes, Roy, I’ll marry you,” she answered softly, blushing.

“So congratulations on your betrothal, or whatever you’re calling it just now—and stop worrying about any of us turnin’ you in!”

The men shook hands. “Likewise,” responded Heyes. He stepped across the room and held out his hand to Ellen. “And congratulations to you, Mrs. Ramsay!”

Ignoring his hand, Ellen flung her arms about his neck and hugged him, tears running down her face.

Watching his cousin abandon any attempt to deal with the rapidly-changing situation, Kid straightened up, chuckling, and held out his hand to the foreman. By this time everyone was standing, Paula hugging Ellen, and Heyes accepting handshakes from Jamie and Dougal, who then turned to shake hands with Curry.

As matters were no longer so tense, Ellen whispered briefly to Paula and then went to the kitchen to see to the serving of the after-supper coffee and sweets.

“Mr. Curry? Is it true that you’re really fast with a gun?” asked Dougal.

Kid sighed. He had seen this coming several minutes earlier. “Yeah, pretty fast. I’ll show you tomorrow, if you like—but I am not teaching you to fast-draw, so don’t ask. Besides, accuracy is more important than speed any day. If you can’t hit what you’re aimin’ at, it don’t matter if you can get your gun out faster than the other fellow. You can still get killed. And if you get a reputation as a fast draw, there are always fools out there who’ll come huntin’ you, hopin’ to prove they’re faster. It’s no kind of life to live if you don’t have to. That’s why I won’t teach you.”

Jamie and Dougal nodded, subdued. But neither of them took their eyes off the two outlaws. 

Heyes and Kid exchanged glances. Being the object of hero-worship from the Ramsay boys was much better than wondering if someone was going to have them arrested, but it had its own problems.

“We aren’t heroes, you know. Far from it,” Heyes began, “so you can stop looking at us like that.”

“I think you are.” Paula contradicted him. 

“You don’t count,” Kid said to her. “You’re in love with him. You probably think he’s perfect.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t think anything of the sort. No, just a moment, let me finish. I think you’re both heroes for having the courage to agree to the conditions of the amnesty offer Governor Hoyt made you, and for trying to so hard to comply with them.” At Heyes’s frown, she added, “I know the amnesty offer is supposed to be a secret, but Paul and I already know, and you’ve told Ellen, so everyone else here should know as well, as long as they all agree to keep it secret as you’ve been asked to do.” She looked around at the others, who nodded in agreement.

“All right,” said Kid, turning to frown severely at Jamie and Dougal, “but we’re no heroes like you two are trying to make us out to be, just because we used to hold up trains and were pretty good at it at one time. It wasn’t a right way to make a living, and we knew it, and now we’re facin’ a lot of trouble, like what just happened, all because we made some bad choices when we were younger ’n you.”

“We know that, Mr. Curry,” admitted Jamie. “We aren’t planning to try anything like that for ourselves. But …” he hesitated, “we’d sure like to hear some of the stories, sometime.”

“We can do that,” agreed Heyes, “if you’ll promise to call us Heyes and Kid, and then remember to use our aliases if there are other folks around. We’re gonna need your help to keep our names quiet. As I guess you figured out, sometimes we aren’t very good at it ourselves.”

“I think that was a special situation,” Roy suggested. “Your guard was down, talking to Miss Wellington. Naturally you trust her, and you weren’t thinking. I doubt you’re usually so careless.”

“That’s a fact,” Kid agreed.

Ellen re-entered the parlor with a heavy silver tray, laden with a coffee pot, a tea pot, a cream jug, and a sugar bowl, all in silver plate. Paula got up quickly to take dessert plates, cups, and saucers from a built-in cupboard in one corner of the parlor, while Ellen set the tray down and returned to the kitchen to bring in an apple pie, a dish of whipped cream, another dish of dried fruit, and some serving utensils. She and Paula then busied themselves in serving.

Hungry for dessert, as it had been a whole twenty minutes since they had finished supper, and they had just suffered a pretty severe shock, Heyes and Curry happily tucked into the apple pie. They had each been served slices consisting of a quarter of the pie, as had Roy, they noticed. The Ramsays split the fourth slice, while the women took only a little of the dried fruit, Ellen taking golden apple slices, while Paula contented herself with a few of what looked like whole dried crab apples. Heyes watched for a moment to see if she would actually eat one without puckering—he had never seen anyone eat a raw crab apple before, even though a dried one would not be quite so sour as one fresh off the tree. 

Noticing his glance, Paula smiled and offered him one, which he hastily declined. She smiled more broadly. “I’ll wager you can’t eat one.”

“Wager what?”

“What you like.”

“All right—another kiss, then, which I’ll collect later.” He promptly picked up one of the crab apples, and without thinking too much about it, popped it into his mouth and bravely ate it. He didn’t quite succeed in keeping his mouth straight, but he ate the whole thing and nodded. “It’s good! But, ah, is there any more of that pie?”

“There’s another pie in the kitchen,” said Ellen, who had been watching the little byplay with amusement. She did not care for overly tart fruit herself, but had spent years planning meals for the Wellington twins, neither of whom was at all fond of sweets.

“No, keep your seat, Mum, I’ll get it.” Dougal left the room quickly. When he returned, he served out second helpings to anyone who wanted one. The second pie rapidly disappeared.

“You remember, now,” Heyes said. “You owe me a kiss.”

“Yes, dear heart.”

The dessert party broke up, and the various members of it vanished in different directions to attend to evening tasks. Having offered to help with the washing-up and been refused, Heyes walked over to the south windows, where heavy blue velvet drapes hung ready to be drawn as soon as it was fully dark. He pushed one of the drapes aside and looked out across the Park. The sun had set, and though the moon was just past the full and had already risen, its spectacular orange-gold disk would be visible only from the plains to the east. It would not rise above the ridge to the east, at the head of Devil’s Gulch where the north fork of the Big Thompson River flowed down through its gorge, for another hour. Heyes decided it would be a good time to look at the stars—actually look at them, not just suggest to his lady that they should do so and then engage her attention, once outdoors, with quite a different activity—though he did intend to collect on the bet he had won.

“Paula? I think we can still see the stars, before the moon comes up. Want to come out and look at them with me?”

“Of course. Let me get a shawl.”

Kid strolled across the room and glanced out. “The stars will be beautiful up here; almost as good as we could see them in Telluride. But remember, if you two don’t come back inside in about twenty minutes, I’ll come and find you.” He noticed Ellen, who had come within earshot as she returned to the parlor to take the coffee and tea tray, looking at him questioningly. “I’m their chaperon, ma’am,” he explained. “I promised her brother.”

She nodded approvingly. “Whilst you’re here, Mr. Curry—ah, Jed—you’ll not need to do it all. I will help. But that is good to hear.”

Putting a warm shawl around her shoulders and carrying her hat, Paula rejoined them, and she and Heyes left the house by the front door, in the south wall of the parlor between the two picture windows. Kid drew his watch from his pocket and checked the time.

*** *** ***

Rather to Paula’s surprise, though Heyes did put his arm around her, he used his free hand to point up to the incredible dome of stars above them. They looked in silence for a few moments, picking out the constellations both recognized, all overshadowed by the brilliance of the Milky Way, so bright one could almost read by it.

Milky Way over Long’s Peak, late winter

Finding that she was still holding her hat, Paula began to put it on. 

“No, that’ll just be in the way,” he said gently. “I’ll take that kiss now.”

Alone with him this time, she turned and put her arms around his neck without hesitation, lifting her face for his kiss.

After a long moment, they parted. She smoothed her hair and put her hat on. 

“Sweetheart?”

“Mmm,” she responded.

“You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you? About being kin, and about Scottish hospitality customs.”

“Yes, but I couldn’t figure out any way to tell you and Kid in such a way that you’d believe me. I thought perhaps they could explain it to you better than I could, especially Roy, who has a foot in both worlds, I suppose one might say.”

“I’m still not sure I understand—I mean, I understand about being family, though I think there’s something I’m not quite getting. You folks define ‘family’ a little different. It means more, somehow. But the other thing—all that about the sacred duties of hospitality, and us having eaten under your roof … I have to admit Jim lost me a little bit there. I didn’t ask, but I could see he’s pretty passionate about it. I thought maybe you could tell me a little more.”

“Certainly, though outdoors, in the dark, on the fourteenth of February, in the mountains, doesn’t quite seem to be the right occasion.”

Heyes laughed and kissed her again, picking up her hat from the ground and handing it to her when he had finished. When Kid Curry came out to check on them, they were standing side by side, each with an arm about the other’s waist, looking across the Park to the shadow of Hallett’s Peak. The three of them turned and re-entered the house together.

*** *** ***

Roy Lennox and the Ramsay boys were making ready to return to the bunkhouse after they had helped with clearing the table and doing up two lots of dishes. Roy had his own small house, but he usually spent the evening in the bunkhouse with the younger men, playing cards or reading. Ellen looked up. “Roy? Dinna go out there just yet. Why shouldn’t all of you stay in the house a little longer?”

“Heyes and Aunt Paula will want to be alone,” objected Dougal.

“We may want to be alone,” rejoined Paula, entering the kitchen with the last few plates and cups, “but we shan’t be. Kid wouldn’t so far forget his duties as chaperon. And Ellen will be here as well, just as worried, if I know her. Besides, here are our guests, with all sorts of questions about hospitality in the Highlands—all those things you mentioned, Jamie, that need some explanation, or more background information. Heyes was quite puzzled. He thought we were in Colorado, not Scotland.”

Roy chuckled. “I told you, Heyes.”

“Yeah, you did. But Paula’s right. I have questions—anyway, there’s no sense in the three of you going out to the bunkhouse and us sitting in here. Unless there’s some kind of rule you have.”

“There’s no hard and fast rule,” said Paula. “I fear we have never done things on this ranch like other people do. And things will be changing now. I’d say the three of you should plan to spend the evenings here as long as Heyes and Kid are visiting, which might be for a couple of months, more or less. Don’t feel obligated to stay if you’ve something else to do, but consider yourselves invited. If I wish to get away from all the extra people, I can retire to my bedchamber.” 

She smiled to let them know she was teasing, though Ellen knew that she was also speaking the exact truth. Miss Paula had always been shy and uncomfortable in company, though she had learned to cover it well as she grew older.

“In that case, there’s something I need to get from my cabin. I’ll be right back.” Roy took his hat and coat and slipped out the back door into the night. The others drifted back into the parlor, this time, at Ellen’s urging, taking seats in the back parlor closer to the big fireplace, beside the door opening from the stairwell. Kid put some more wood on the fire, as the evening chill was starting to come into the house.

Perhaps, with five other men present, he could suggest a game of poker, thought Heyes, though it probably wouldn’t be a good idea the first night they were here. And he really did want to hear more about this strange Scottish idea of hospitality. It appeared to be a matter of family honor, far more than simple courtesy.

With a murmured excuse, Paula retreated into her wing of the house, reappearing quickly with a work bag which proved to contain a knitting project that Heyes had not yet seen—not, for once, a pair of socks. Not that he minded her knitting socks, he reminded himself, considering that he was wearing the pair she had given him two weeks ago and appreciating them very much.

When Roy came back into the parlor, he produced an envelope of about the right size to hold a cabinet photograph, and handed it to Ellen. “There you are, dear lady. I bought that this year, just on an impulse—didn’t know when I’d actually get to use it.”

Forewarned, Ellen was still pleased when she opened the envelope to find an elaborate Valentine’s Day card inside. He had never ventured to give her one before, after she had told him that she would entertain no thought of marriage until Miss Paula was provided for. But obviously, he had never given up hope. “Thank you, _Ruairidh_. It is beautiful.” She addressed him by the Gaelic form of his name as she had long wanted to do. 

“That’s right. It _is_ Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” exclaimed Heyes. Belatedly he remembered that his partner had warned him of the upcoming lovers’ holiday when they were in El Paso. Kid had purchased a card with a simple message inside that he hoped Lillian O’More would not find too forward, and had posted it from El Paso so she might have a chance of getting it in time. At the same time, he had told her that they were escorting Miss Wellington to the C Bar W Ranch, and had given her the address. 

Heyes met Curry’s eyes, smiled, and shrugged, indicating he’d forgotten all about the date. When he turned to look at Paula, he found that she was withdrawing a small envelope from her knitting bag. “I got this for you, darling.” She passed it over to him. “I almost couldn’t bring myself to do it, because I have detested this holiday for years. I had, as I told you, resolved never to marry, before my brother and I left London in 1872, and that being the case, I have simply tried to avoid the holiday, and the exchanging of cards. But now, finally, I have someone to whom to give one.”

He extracted the card and opened it. There was no printed sentiment. She had simply written, ‘With all my love, Paula Anne Wellington, February 1881.’ He stood still, turning the card in his hands, uncertain what to say. She knew him well enough, he realized, that the truth was probably the best choice. “I didn’t get you a card or anything. You’ll have to make do with that promise ring for now.” He offered her a quick smile. “I’ve never paid any attention to Valentine’s Day. Until today. You’ve made it mean something to me.”

“Why don’t you sit here beside me,” Paula suggested, her voice unsteady, “instead of standing there looking like you don’t know what to do with your hands? I’ve got some yarn to wind, and you can hold the skein, if you will.” Tears were sparkling on her lashes. Without a word, Heyes sat down and held up his hands for the skein of yarn, a task he remembered well from childhood, but which he could not recall ever enjoying very much. It was different, of course, when his own chosen lady asked him to help her, had maybe even spun the yarn herself. He asked about that, having seen a spinning wheel in the corner of the room.

“Yes, Ellen taught me to spin, and I still try to keep my hand in, even though it’s easy enough nowadays to acquire store-bought yarn. You know, Heyes, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, to ask everyone to make this a social evening. With it being Valentine’s Day, and with _two_ pairs of lovers in the house, Kid, Jamie, and Dougal will be quite, quite bored.”

“That’s all right.” Kid had heard this and glanced over at them. “We’re finding things to talk about.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Heyes thoughtfully, after watching for a while the hypnotic motions of her hands as she wound the ball of yarn from the skein held between his hands, and finding himself getting sleepy, “I don’t know why you’re not dead of fatigue, darling. We’ve all three had a very long day, much of it spent in the saddle, followed by lots of good food and a little bit more excitement than we wanted. If no one has any objection, I’d like to make it an early night.” He glanced around the room. The others were nodding; everyone seemed to be in agreement.

Ellen was looking at Heyes and Kid. “Breakfast is usually at half past seven this time of year, but if you want to sleep in, we could make it an hour later, just for the one day.” She caught her son Dougal’s eye and almost imperceptibly shook her head, wishing to convey that he should refrain from waking the household with the bagpipes at half past six, since their guests hoped to sleep in. Dougal grinned, the men nodded, and Paula readily acquiesced. She had not noticed her tiredness until Heyes commented on it, but now it suddenly seemed to have overwhelmed her.

Exchanging good-nights all round, the party made their separate ways to their lodgings or bedchambers, Ellen putting her arm around Paula’s waist as they went into the west wing together and shut the door behind them.

*** *** ***

The two outlaws were in Heyes’s room, talking things over before retiring to bed. “You were right, Kid. I think we’re gonna like it here. I don’t know how long we can stay this time, but we’re as safe as we’d be anywhere else—a good deal safer than some places. And this is a place we can come back to, maybe call home someday.”

“I was thinkin’ of that. You’ll enjoy settlin’ down here.”

“You heard what they said, Kid. They want both of us to consider it home.”

“That’s all right for you—you’re marryin’ one of the ranch owners. But, and that’s assuming that Lillie and I—well, I don’t know. We ain’t that far along yet. Anyway, she has her own business. She won’t want to leave Telluride, and I don’t really have a home to offer her, if we ever get to talkin’ about that.”

“This house has plenty of room,” suggested Heyes. “Wellington told me they built it with the idea of three families living here—one in each wing and one in the central section upstairs, where Mrs. Ramsay lived with her boys when it was first built. She lives up there alone now, but that won’t be for much longer. That’s why they built it with two full storeys and three staircases.”

“That would mean that I’d have to buy into the partnership or something, and who says they’ll agree to that?”

“I do. Wellington already told me I’d be marrying into the partnership, so I have something to say about it. And besides, he told me—said he didn’t want to press either of us, but he didn’t see any reason you couldn’t bring your wife, when you have one, and settle down here with the rest of us, or maybe in the town if you’d rather. He meant it, Kid, and so do I.”

“You’re a fine one to be makin’ plans that far ahead, considerin’ you’re the one that’s always sayin’ we can’t make plans.” But Curry was touched, and fell silent after making the necessary objections. _It would be nice to bring Lillie here. But I don’t even know if she’ll consider marryin’ me, when I’m able to ask her. We don’t even know if she and Paula will get along. And if they don’t, we’re all in a lot of trouble_. In an effort to lighten matters up, he retorted, “So you _are_ marryin’ her for her money!”

Heyes smacked him with a towel.


	5. Winter in the High Country, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are Heyes and Kid really safe at the ranch? And what does that have to do with a murder that took place in Scotland over a hundred years earlier?

**C Bar W Ranch, February 15th, 1881**

Breakfast consisted mostly of the usual foods to which Heyes and Kid were accustomed, but in addition, a steaming bowl of some kind of porridge, which looked like a pale, cream-colored fine-textured mush, but smelled like oat meal, was placed in front of each person as soon as grace had been said. Heyes had already noticed that a small bowl of fresh cream was sitting beside each plate. Watching the others carefully, he discovered that he was expected to take a spoonful of the hot porridge and dip it into the cream before putting it into his mouth. He imitated their movements and found that the concoction was astonishingly good, though not quite like anything he or his cousin had been served before.

“Yes, it’s oat meal, as they call it here,” Paula assured them, “but if you do anything so … so _English_ as to try to put sugar or syrup on it, Ellen will most assuredly take an iron skillet to you. It’s been cooked with salt, just right, and you’re eating it the Highland way. Sugar is for other things, such as putting in your coffee, if you must.” She removed the sugar bowl from their reach as she spoke.

“We had oat meal at the Home,” Kid commented after eating his entire bowlful without stopping and then using the spoon to scrape the last drops from the bowl, “but it was nothing like this. I think that’s some of the best stuff I’ve ever tasted!” He smiled at Ellen, who was already nodding approvingly at their obvious enjoyment.

Heyes made no remark whatsoever, concentrating on cleaning his bowl. He was hoping for a second helping, but Jamie and Dougal got up at that point, one removing the empty porridge bowls while the other brought a mighty platter of fried eggs, bacon, and sausage to the table. The eggs were in several different stages of doneness, each type piled by itself in a different corner of the platter. Roy brought another platter to the table, piled high with hot biscuits straight from the oven. Realizing he would be doing well to get through all of that food without asking for more oat meal, Heyes grinned at his partner, who was already offering him the platter after helping himself to the eggs and bacon, and said nothing.

As everyone was finishing the food on their plates, Roy spoke up. “Miss Wellington, do you want me to read Morning Prayer this morning, since your brother isn’t here?”

“Yes, if you please, Roy.” She turned to the guests. “It’s our custom to read through the Episcopal service of Morning Prayer[1] every morning after breakfast, even though my brother and I are the only Anglicans. We also read the Psalms for the day, and the lessons from Old and New Testaments, but omit the Apostles’ Creed. It takes perhaps twenty minutes. You needn’t stay if you would prefer not to. If you do stay, please don’t feel expected to participate.”

Heyes exchanged a quick look with his partner, who nodded. “They used to do something similar after breakfast back at the Home for Waywards. We’ll stay, but someone will have to show us where you’re reading from so we can follow along.”

Paula opened her Book of Common Prayer and laid it on the table between herself and Heyes. Lennox re-positioned his book so that Curry could look on while he read, and began the short service with the reading of one of the penitential verses.

After Morning Prayer was over and the table had been cleared, Roy seated himself at the table again, next to Ellen. “This is when we usually discuss the work that’s waiting to be done for the day. Middle of February, there isn’t much, aside from looking after the stock that’s not out in the pasture—and we’ve done that already—and taking loads of hay to each pasture. There’s still too much snow on the western and northern reaches for us to be able to stop feeding them, and this time of year, we use a sleigh rather than a wagon.”

Friesian pair pulling a sleigh

“We can help with that,” said Heyes. “Which horses do you use to pull the sleigh?”

“A pair of the Friesians, one pair to each of the three sleighs. Their harness is in the shed attached to that stable on the east side, along with the sleighs and wagons. The hay is in the lofts that are built over each stable, and just needs to be pitched down. I’ll show you.”

“After you’re done with that, Heyes, I thought you both would like to ride around the ranch boundaries a little with me—in fact, we can all go.” Paula glanced around at the other men. “The first thing I want to do is bring the three-year-olds in from pasture. We can do that together, before lunch. I have an idea I want to discuss with you. Do you know if they’re anywhere near the house, Roy?”

“I saw them down the slope on the west side yesterday. We should be able to find them and bring them in before lunch.”

After they had finished eating a fairly substantial lunch, Heyes patted his abdomen and exchanged glances with his partner. “If this keeps up, we’ll have to start putting in a lot more work, or I won’t be able to fit into my trousers.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that.”

“There’s work enough, gentlemen—at least, I hope you’ll think so. And I hope you’ll like what I had in mind,” said Paula, coming in from the kitchen in time to hear this exchange.

“O.K., out with it,” returned Heyes. “You’ve been mysterious all morning.”

“Come with me to look at the three-year-olds, and I’ll tell you.”

Leaning on the top rail of the fence bordering the half-acre paddock into which they’d turned the young horses, they watched the animals frolicking in the snow, or pawing through it to sample last autumn’s uncut mountain timothy grass. Seeing the humans, several of the horses, both mares and geldings, came over to ask for attention.

“If I’m going to be riding anywhere with the two of you,” Paula said carefully, hoping that Heyes would not come up with a range of objections to her plans, “I need a different horse than the gentleman horse I was using in Texas and on the way back up here. I plan to select one of these mares, and start conditioning her as my regular mount.”

Digesting the implications of this, Heyes decided not to answer the unspoken challenge in her words. They had not yet discussed how long he and Kid would remain at the C Bar W, where they would go when they left, and whether or not his betrothed would accompany them if they went farther than Denver. The present did not seem to be a good time to take up those questions, especially if he voiced his idea that Paula should stay home while they rode away somewhere—she was likely to raise objections. He figured that he would do as they usually did, and take things as they came. “That sounds like a good idea,” he responded encouragingly. “And?”

“And,” continued Paula, “I want to give one of them to you. And another to you, Kid, if you would like one.”

“That sounds like an afterthought,” said Kid.

“It wasn’t meant to be—but naturally I was thinking of Heyes first.”

“Probably be better if one of us has an older, more experienced horse. Joe, my bay gelding, is younger than that red dun of Heyes’s. Be reasonable for me to keep him if you two are going to work with the three-year-olds.”

“You want to give me a horse?” Heyes asked, surprised. For some reason, he hadn’t thought of that as a possibility.

“We do raise them,” she pointed out, “and I want you to have one—the best we have. I expect that dun of yours could use a holiday. He’s welcome to remain here, on pasture, for as long as you want to leave him. Please, Heyes? I really want you to have one of these youngsters. They’ve all been well broken to saddle, harness, pack saddle, and mountain trails. They’re all fairly fast, and long on endurance, because of the Arabian bloodlines, and the Morgan-Arabian crossbreds are very sturdy, as you saw with our using Angus for a pack horse and for driving.”

“I can’t say no, can I? They all look good—well-muscled and in top condition.” Heyes laid a hand on the top fence rail and vaulted lightly over it, walking forward to get a closer look at the horses. Having made a polite protest at the value of the gift, he wasted no more time. An offer like that wasn’t to be passed up. He was specifically looking for a Morgan-Arabian cross, preferably a sorrel or red chestnut, fairly tall, friendly, not skittish, with steady nerves. Walking right into the middle of the herd of some twenty horses, he waited to see which ones would come up to him. 

Paula and Kid watched from the fence. “Have you ever thought of crossing one of those Friesians with an Arabian?” asked Kid. “That would be something to see. It’d give you speed and strength both.”

“We have not—not yet, anyway. You may have something there.” She didn’t take her eyes off Heyes, who was now engaged in stroking shapely heads and crested necks, almost lost to sight as the horses gathered around to sniff at him. “You’re interesting in horse breeding, Kid?”

“I’ve done some work with horses—it was one of the first jobs I had after I came west from Arkansas to try to find Heyes. I’ve seen some careful breeding being done, on one ranch in the Texas panhandle. And I’ve worked with foals and yearlings before.”

That made her actually turn to look at him. “That’s very good hearing. You’ll be able to help us out here, without my worrying that we’re asking you to do work to which you’re completely unaccustomed. If you’d like to have an Arabian-Friesian cross, we’ll put that breeding in hand in July. Then, if you’re still running from the law by the time the resulting colt or filly is old enough to be of use to you, you may have him or her.” She smiled. “Naturally, you can have the horse anyway. I was just thinking of your really needing a fast one someday.”

She saw Heyes put his arm around the neck of a long-legged chestnut mare, with a clear red coat and lighter mane and tail. “Do you want a halter?”

Flaxen-chestnut Morgan mare

“Let’s see if she’ll let me lead her without one.” Heyes gently took hold of the mare’s forelock with one hand, stroking her neck with the other, and began to walk toward the fence. She followed readily, allowing him to control her head without any urging. He stood by the fence, stroking her head gently. “I’d like to try her out. It’s possible one of the others, maybe one of the geldings, would suit me better. I don’t have to decide today, do I?”

“Of course not. Take your time and pick the right one. It doesn’t even have to be one of these. We have a few unsold four-year-olds—you can look at them as well.”

He nodded. “There’s time. Let me get a saddle on this lady and see how she does.” He took the halter Paula was holding, slipped it over the mare’s head, and buckled the strap. Leading her out of the paddock and over to a hitch rail, he tied her loosely, with a slip knot, and stood watching for a moment to make sure that she was not going to fight the rope. The mare stood quietly, as calm as a horse twice her age. “Now, what about you? You said you were planning to take one of this bunch for yourself. Have you got one picked out yet? I suppose you know all of them pretty well already.”

“I’ve worked with all of them last year and the year before,” replied Paula. “I have a good idea which one I want, but like you, I’ll have to try her out first.” She picked up a second halter, slipped through the fence with care to keep from getting the skirt of her riding habit entangled in the lower rail, and walked over to the horses. After a very little searching, she returned, leading a black. Unlike the Morgan-Arabian cross that Heyes had chosen, this horse was a purebred Arabian, with a fine-boned head and dished profile. 

Black Egyptian Arabian mare

“This mare likes me, and I like her—I rode her quite a bit last summer, and thought at the time that she promised to develop into a good saddle horse.” She led the mare through the gate and waited while Heyes untied his horse before leading the way to the tack storage room housed in one end of the stable building.

“Coming with us, Kid?”

“’Course I am. Not lettin’ you two ride out alone who knows where. I’ll get a saddle on Joe.” Curry had not gone with the others to retrieve the three-year-olds, so this would be his horse’s first time under saddle for the day.

*** *** ***

After attending to the evening chores around the stable yard, which included milking the cow, feeding the hens and securing the henhouse for the night, grooming and feeding all of the horses including the two three-year-olds, which were being kept in box stalls close to the house rather than being turned out to pasture, and bringing in a piece of the Friesian harness which had developed a weak spot where the buckled leather straps joined the collar to the traces, everyone came into the house, more than ready for supper.

The supper featured generous quantities of good plain food, starting with steaks, sizzling on a hot platter, accompanied by mashed potatoes and gravy, and such winter vegetables as they had been able to grow or trade for.

When they had eaten and dealt with the washing-up, called locally, for some reason the British immigrants could never understand, ‘bulldogging,’ everyone provided himself or herself with a fresh cup of coffee or tea and drifted into the back parlor. The women opened their work bags and began to knit, while Heyes glanced at his partner and then over at Roy Lennox. “Would anybody be interested in a hand or two of poker?”

“With you? I don’t know how wise that is,” replied Roy. “You’ve got a bit of a reputation, Heyes. I’m not sure any of us can afford to play poker with you.”

“Oh, come on,” protested Heyes. “Kid and I don’t have a whole lot of spare cash available right now either. What do you say to a nice, friendly game, for stakes agreed on beforehand, maybe for a set time? Not more than an hour, say.”

“Do you want me to sit in on the game?” asked Paula, much to the surprise of the ranch’s permanent residents, who were unaware that Heyes had been teaching her to play. “Because if you don’t, I’ll hold you to that hour time limit. I want some of your time as well.”

“You could watch, maybe learn something,” Heyes suggested. “And by all means, let’s not go over the hour. I’ve got some things I wanted to talk about with all of you, and you can’t hold a serious conversation during a poker game.”

Thus being obliquely warned against interrupting the game with inconsequential chatter, Paula nodded, settling herself in a corner where she could observe Heyes’s hand, while the five men set up a card table, laid out cards and chips, and pulled up chairs.

This evening, Ellen had not provided freshly-baked apple pies—those had been a special effort, baked with the intention of making Heyes and Kid feel welcome—but there were sweet pastries and fruit for dessert, together with fresh coffee and tea.

Heyes had won the majority of the hands in the poker game, but only a bare majority. Roy and the Ramsays had held their own fairly well against him and Kid. All three played fairly good poker. Admittedly, Heyes had been holding himself back a bit, not wishing to win too much money from men he might have to work with in the future. And they had kept the stakes low, as requested.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Heyes began, taking a cup of coffee and sitting down across from Roy, leaving the seats closest to the roaring fire free for the women.

The foreman met his glance with a quick smile. “Yeah?”

“You said, last night, that even if we weren’t regarded as kin here, there was a duty of hospitality.” Heyes looked at Jamie Ramsey. “In fact, _you_ said that first. What I’m gettin’ at is that all of you seem to have some kind of understanding that we don’t, Kid and I. Hospitality’s important, yeah, but you’re sayin’ there’s more to it.”

“In the Highlands, there is. A lot more. I’ve never been there, but even though some of the stories I’ve heard date from over a hundred years ago, I don’t think things have changed all that much. It’s Ellen you’d have to ask for the stories, I’m thinkin’.” Lennox still retained some Gaelic speech patterns in his English, demonstrating that at least one of his parents had been a native speaker of the language, even though he himself had never learned to speak it with any fluency.

Jamie was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, because all I know is what Mum has told us. We were born in Argyle[2], Doug and I, but we were still just kids when we came here with Aunt Paula and Uncle Paul. I just know Mum made us understand that those things haven’t gone out of date. They’re still as true now, for a Highlander, as they ever were, whatever part of the world we live in. It’s about honour.”

“That’s what my folks said,” added Roy. “Lennoxes are members of Clan Stewart, and even though no one’s huntin’ us down any more, like they did in 1746 after Culloden, we haven’t forgotten. My folks hadn’t forgotten. They were kin to James of the Glens, and proud of it, they told me.”

“Could you start at the beginning? Maybe tell me who James of the Glens was?” Heyes recognized the name of the battle, and the date, from the long conversation he’d had with Paul Wellington in the hotel bar in Laredo, but he still didn’t know the details. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to learn.” He smiled across at Paula. “I think I’m gonna have to learn. No time like the present, is there?”

“The story of what happened to James of the Glens is as good as any to start explaining things.” Roy settled himself more comfortably, changing the angle of his seat so he could watch Ellen’s face. _I still have to find her a ring_ , he reminded himself. _No matter, that can wait._ Silently he called down blessings on the head of Hannibal Heyes, for talking Miss Wellington into agreeing to marry him and thus helping Roy achieve his own heart’s desire.

“James of the Glens was the brother of the clan chief of the Stewarts of Ardsheal, in Appin. After the Jacobites were defeated in 1746 …” Roy stopped. “I’m sorry; this gets kind of complicated, if you don’t know the history.”

“I know a little about the 1745 rising and the battle of Culloden,” Heyes encouraged him. “Wellington told me about that, when he was explainin’ how he didn’t mind havin’ a wanted train robber for a brother-in-law. Go on.” Out of the corner of his eye, he stole a quick glance at his partner, expecting to see him looking around for a book to read. But Kid, though he had a book in his hands, hadn’t opened it, and appeared to be listening intently.

Lennox grinned. “You mean because almost everybody, even Campbells, had at least one outlaw in the family in those days? Hadn’t thought about it like that. Well, James of the Glens was being closely watched by the authorities, so he just kept his head down, as you might say, and went on about his business as best he could. His brother was in exile in France, and he had to take care of some of the daily affairs of the clansfolk in Appin. Meanwhile, the English government confiscated the chief’s property and told all the tenant farmers to pay their rent to the government instead of sending it to France, to the rightful owner. The government put in a factor—ah….” He hesitated, not sure himself how one would define that term in America.

Paula supplied, “Here we’d probably say a man of business, or perhaps even a foreman.”

“Thanks. They looked around for a Scot to take the job, by way of trying to make the Stewarts a little happier about the idea. Except they chose a Campbell—Colin _Ruadh_ Campbell of Glenure—and of course we … that is, the Appin Stewarts, had been at feud with the Campbells for centuries.”

“Bad choice,” murmured Heyes.

“Yeah, you could say that. From what my parents told me, handed down from their ancestors who were there, Glenure wasn’t a bad fellow. He did the best he could in a bad situation, trying to be honest and get folks to work with him. In 1752, one of the chief’s close kin, a man named Alan _Breac_ Stewart, came over from France to see to some business for the chief. While he was in Appin, somebody shot Campbell of Glenure from ambush. Killed him. Alan _Breac_ was seen nearby right after the shot was fired, and of course the soldiers who saw him jumped to the conclusion he’d done the shooting. I was never told who the killer was, though the word is that the folks in Appin know, or they did—they’re just not sayin’. But it wasn’t Alan _Breac_. He was too obvious. He laid a trail so the real man could get away, trying to get the soldiers to chase him instead. Then he lost ’em, and took to the heather till he could get back to France safely.”

_Bein’ chased by a posse. Now that’s something I can relate to_. Heyes nodded. “He was alone?”

“Apparently. There’s a story around that he had a lad with him, a little younger than Doug, here, a Lowlander from near Edinburgh, but nobody’s ever been able to verify that. And what would a Lowland boy be doing in the Highlands, in a desperate situation like that?”[3]

Roy stopped to accept a second sticky bun and another cup of coffee from Ellen, who had been listening as closely as the others until she had gone to bring in second helpings of dessert. Heyes marvelled at the intensity with which the story was being told—it was as though Roy Lennox had been there and taken part in the events he was relating, instead of which, it was probably his great-great-grandfather or somebody like that.

“Here’s where your question about hospitality comes in, Heyes. Alan _Breac_ needed help—shelter for the night, a change of clothes, and some supplies, if he was to have a chance of getting back to France safely. He went to James of the Glens to ask for whatever they could provide. James was Alan’s cousin, so he welcomed Alan into the house and gave him food and shelter, and only then found out that Glenure had been murdered and Alan was being hunted for the shooting.”

Kid Curry whistled softly. He and Heyes had never put their hosts in quite such a bad fix, though what they’d inadvertently done to the Jordan family had been close. He shot a quick glance at his partner and saw Heyes’s expression change from shock to outrage to uneasiness, followed by a long stare at his boots. _Yeah, he got the point—funny, because Lennox here doesn’t even know us. I’m sure he didn’t say that on purpose_.

“James knew his house would be one of the first places the pursuers would look,” Roy continued, “for someone on the run in Stewart country, and that he, his wife, and his family could get in serious trouble with the English government. But he had opened his house, he and his family had shared food with Alan, and he wouldn’t refuse to help him, or turn him in to the English. What he did was to put out wanted posters, describing Alan in the clothes he’d been wearing when he was spotted after the shooting—of course, James had given him different ones by then—and sent Alan on his way with the supplies he needed.”

Roy set down his coffee cup. “And when the English came, and arrested James, and interrogated him, he wouldn’t tell ’em anything except that he’d heard of a man running away from the scene of the murder, identified by some as Alan _Breac_ Stewart, and that’s why he’d put the wanted posters out.”

“Arrested him? On what charge?” Heyes wanted to know.

“The charge was suspicion of being ‘art and part’ in the killing.” Roy hesitated. “I’m no lawyer, but …”

“I think what they’d say over here is that he was suspected of being an accessory before the fact,” supplied Paula. She had stopped even pretending to knit. “The next part’s rather grim, Heyes. I can tell it as well as Roy can; that is, if you’ll trust a Campbell to tell it,” she added.

“I’ll stop you if you make a mistake,” said Roy. “But why would you know this story, Miss Wellington?”

“There are Campbells, highly-placed ones, too, who were ashamed of the way this matter of James of the Glens was handled. So the story was passed down in my mother’s family as well, by way of a warning about contributing to a miscarriage of justice, especially when political hysteria is involved.”

“Go on, then,” said Roy soberly.

“Scottish law states that somebody who is charged as an accessory must not be brought to trial unless the person who is suspected of the main crime is also in custody and available to be tried. The third Duke of Argyle, the chief of Clan Campbell at that time, knew that perfectly well, since he had been a practising lawyer and was serving as the—well, I suppose you could say the circuit judge—for that area of Western Scotland at that time. But they went ahead and seated a jury to try James of the Glens. Several of the members of the jury were related to the murdered man. Argyle, also related to Campbell of Glenure, presided over the trial, which was held in his home town of Inveraray—about forty miles from where I was born.”

“James couldn’t possibly get a fair trial there, could he?” Heyes objected, appalled. 

“No. But I don’t think anybody was concerned with fairness, or even with the legality of bringing that kind of charge when they hadn’t caught the murderer, or even a murder suspect. It was only six years after Culloden, and the English government had been badly frightened, because the Rising came so close to succeeding. Argyle and most of the Campbells had fought on the government side, as I believe my brother told you, Heyes. They all cared a lot more about being seen to ‘get something done’ than they did about whether what was done was right.”

Seeing Heyes’s mouth tighten, she went on. “James was convicted of being an accessory, and sentenced to hang. They left his body hanging in chains at Ballachulish for almost two years. That was supposed to serve as a warning to any Stewart who thought of opposing the government. Of course, it only made every Highlander furious and resentful, but the English never understood that, nor would they have cared if they had done.”

Jamie Ramsay spoke up. “That’s what I was tryin’ to tell you, Heyes. The duty of hospitality kept James of the Glens from turning in his cousin to the authorities, or turning him away without the help he needed, or even telling anybody any details that would help the government catch him or anyone else. And he died for it. That’s how important it is.”

“All right, all right.” Heyes looked around at Lennox and the Ramsays. “I understand, or at least I understand enough. I won’t say another word. But … I sure don’t want anybody to die, trying to protect us, or for any other reason. Let’s try not to repeat history, O.K.?”

This got a general chuckle, though it was obvious the outlaw was quite serious.

“Nobody has any intention of dying,” Lennox reassured him. “Though we’d protect you both, cover your getaway, if we had to and there was no other way around it. Like I said, I’m not lettin’ anything happen to you, _or_ your cousin.”

“Thanks,” said Heyes, rather shaken. “We appreciate that. We really do.”

Paula set her teacup aside. “Would you care to go out and look at the stars again this evening? I don’t know how much we can see, with the moon being full, but maybe it’s not visible over the ridge behind us yet.”

“Go out and look at the stars? That should come from me,” returned Heyes. Understanding she was trying to ease the tension, he rose, put his arm around her waist and led her over to the front door.

“Twenty minutes, Heyes,” Kid reminded him.

“Sure, I remember.”

*** *** ***

They admired the stars very briefly, because a biting cold wind had sprung up which made it quite uncomfortable to remain outside for very long. Heyes kissed his lady quickly, since they were alone. 

“That’s quite a story. He tells it like he was there.”

“I think many Highlanders feel as if they _were_ there, especially when these stories are passed down in the family with a great deal of passion. You know, there’s another story we should tell you—not tonight, it can wait. But there have been times, one in particular that I know of, in 1692, when things didn’t always go as well.”

“You’re saying this one went _well_? This James of the Glens was hanged unjustly, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but the other story I was told ended up not only with innocent people getting killed, but with the customs of hospitality being violated. That’s why I said things don’t always go perfectly. But that incident is also a good illustration of what Roy and Jamie were trying to tell you. It’s Ellen who should tell it, since one of her ancestors was involved.”

“I’d like to hear it. But we’d better go back in before you get too cold.”

*** *** ***

Sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling off his boots, Heyes had a feeling of being watched, and looked up to discover Curry leaning against the door jamb in between their two rooms.

“That was some story, wasn’t it?”

Kid nodded soberly. “You know, Heyes, I remember Grandpa Curry telling stories like that, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. It’s too bad he died before we were old enough to remember most of what he had to tell. I’m glad these folks have kept hold of their family history. But did you hear that about the wanted man, Alan Breck,” —this was the closest he could come to pronouncing the Gaelic nickname Roy had used— “how he didn’t tell the folks who took him in that somebody had been shot and he was bein’ chased by a posse, until _after_ they’d agreed to help him?”

Heyes frowned. “I heard. My first thought was that was kind of a dirty trick to play on his hosts, especially if he had any idea what kind of danger he’d be puttin’ them in.” He looked up at Kid, his expression grim. “Then I thought about the Jordans. I’m not sayin’ I thought about what _we_ did to the Jordans, because it was my idea, every bit of it. You just backed me up, like you usually do.”

“Well, we kinda had to, Heyes.”

“I know it; we didn’t have any choice at the time. We needed help, at least some way to lose that posse. But we didn’t need to settle in and stay so long, and put them in danger. And I didn’t need to do it the way I did, trying to charm Mrs. Jordan, encouraging the girls into making an attempt to bust us loose, not thinkin’ about anything or anybody except what _we_ needed, or anybody’s feelings except ours. We caused them a lot of trouble. Maybe next time I can think of some better way to handle it. If there is a next time.”

Soberly, Curry dropped a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

* * *

[1] 1789 Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments; and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church, According to the Use of the Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States of America. 1871 Standard Edition, New York Bible and Common Prayer Book Society, Cooper Union, Fourth Avenue, New York, M.DCCC.LXXVI, pp. 1-14.

[2] The name of the shire, and the corresponding title of the Chief of Clan Campbell, were both, at this time, still being written “Argyle”, rather than the newer spelling adopted by the 8th Duke of Argyll right about the time of this story. Either spelling is pronounced “Ar-GUILE”, with the stress on the second syllable, since the name is two separate words in Gaelic.

[3] Read _Kidnapped_ , by Robert Louis Stevenson, for a fuller description of this odd story. In recounting the story, Stevenson also, for some reason, incorrectly dates the Appin Murder to 1751.


	6. Winter in the High Country, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven by a perpetual restlessness, Hannibal Heyes makes plans to look for work elsewhere, just as he and Kid Curry are settling in at the C Bar W. Will Miss Wellington ever see him again?

**February 16th, 1881, early morning**

Just before sunrise, Hannibal Heyes was in the middle of a beautiful dream, in which he was riding with Paula through fields and fields of sweet-smelling heather, surrounded by the mountains of Highland Scotland that he had never seen in real life. Suddenly a noise, which sounded to him like half a dozen annoyed tom cats all arguing at once, jerked him from slumber. A moment later, Kid Curry, still in his long underwear, appeared in the doorway, his revolver cocked and ready, obviously just awakened by the same sound.

Blinking, trying to force his mind to concentrate, Heyes realized that the sound was not in the room, or outside under the window. It sounded like it was right outside the door, in the passageway—no, now it was receding, as if the maker of the noise was walking away. Determined to investigate, Heyes began pulling on his clothes.

In the front parlor, Dougal Ramsay concluded the repeat of the fourth part of ‘Hey, Johnnie Cope, Are Ye Waukin’ Yet,’[1] and shut off the flow of air to his bagpipe reeds, hesitating before striking the bag in once again and playing a second tune. Usually, only one tune was required to awaken the household, which, when Paul Wellington was not home, was the duty of one of the Ramsay boys—performed, this time of year, in the passageways leading to the bedrooms and ending in the parlor, rather than outside the house. But with the guests they presently had, he wasn’t sure if he ought to play longer or not. 

Behind him, he heard the sound of an opening door, and a crisp voice. “Let me take those for a moment.”

Dougal spun around to see Paul Wellington, his clothes dusty from the road and his face drawn with weariness, standing with his hand on the lever of the door into the stairwell. His face lit up in welcome—Paula’s brother must have been riding most of the night. “Of course, Uncle Paul!” He handed over the pipes forthwith.

Taking a deep breath, Wellington struck in the pipes and began to play a 6/8 march. Dougal chuckled as he recognized the tune _Baile Inneraora_ , which had had a set of English words written for it, called ‘The Campbells Are Coming.’[2] That was an appropriate tune to announce Paul’s homecoming to his sister.

A few seconds after he began to play, the door to the stairwell was flung open and Heyes and Kid appeared in the doorway, stopping short as they caught sight of the two pipers. Stepping back in some alarm at the volume of sound put out by the deceptively small instrument, Heyes trod on his partner’s toes, then hastily entered the parlor at Kid’s shove, moving to one side so Kid could follow him. Wellington nodded briefly at seeing them, and swung into the second part of the tune.

Before he had finished, there was a movement in the stairwell, and Paula, clad in a blue wool dressing gown trimmed with satin, her hair still in its braids from the night, came through the doorway eagerly. She saw Heyes and blushed, but after all, her dressing gown was decent enough, and she wanted to greet her brother. She had sprung from her bed incredulously and flung on the dressing gown when she heard ‘The Campbells Are Coming,’ knowing it meant Paul must be home. He had only been two days behind them when they had parted in Texas, and then she, Heyes, and Kid had spent two days at the McCreedy Ranch. There was no reason Paul could not have made it home this soon after their own arrival, however much of a surprise it was. She waited until the tune was finished and then went forward to greet him, her hands held out.

Paul handed the pipes back to Dougal. They were actually his own, but Dougal had taken charge of the morning wake-up call playing while the Wellingtons were in Texas, so he had undertaken to look after the pipes. Paul took his sister’s hands and kissed her cheek. “Good to see that all of you arrived safely, not that I doubted you would.” He released Paula and held out his hand to Heyes and Curry.

“Yes, we got here two days ago. Happened to be Valentine’s Day, too, though I didn’t plan it that way,” Heyes replied. “You look like you’ve been riding all night.”

“Not quite. I got some sleep in the hotel in Lyons, then pushed on around one o’clock. Wanted to get home, rather, and decided not to wait. As it is, I got here just in time to hear Dougal playing ‘Hey, Johnnie Cope.’

“Playing _what_?” asked Kid.

“Playing ‘Hey, Johnnie Cope, Are Ye Waukin’ Yet’. On the pipes. That’s the name of the tune and the song that goes with it. It’s about a general who lost a battle because his army was surprised in the early morning, whilst his troops were all still asleep. It’s become traditional to use it as a tune to awaken troops in the army,” Paul explained cheerfully. Seeing the two outlaws exchange somewhat resigned looks, he added. “I told Joshua that someone here—one of the Ramsays, or I—plays the pipes every morning to awaken the household. Didn’t he tell you?”

Curry gave his partner a long look. Heyes looked innocent and shrugged; in fact, he’d completely forgotten about that. There had been so many other more important things that they’d talked about in that conversation.

“No one played yesterday morning,” said Paula. “It was decided to let all of us sleep in, after the long trip to get here.” She went over to Heyes and took his hands briefly, thus forestalling any attempt to take her in his arms, since she wasn’t properly dressed, but Heyes merely squeezed her hands decorously and smiled at her, setting her heart fluttering. She pulled her hands free. “I must go and finish dressing before we start cooking the breakfast. I’ll see you then.” She went back through the door into the stairwell and a moment later they heard the west wing door close.

“You’ll join us for breakfast? Or do you just want to head straight for bed?” Heyes turned to Wellington. “I’ll look after your horse and your gear while we’re waiting for breakfast.”

“I’ll probably eat a bit. And I’ll take you up on that offer. I really ought to look after him myself, but I am rather tired.”

“Jim and I’ll do that, Heyes,” offered Dougal. He had put the pipes away in their case and was preparing to leave the house through the kitchen passageway. “It’s on our way.”

“Thanks.”

Paul looked from one outlaw to the other. “I can see some things have happened since you’ve been here. They know who you are?”

“Yeah, everybody here knows, and they’ve convinced us they don’t mean us any harm. We’ll tell you about it while we’re waitin’ for breakfast, if you want to come back into the parlor after you’ve washed up,” offered Kid.

“I shall look forward to that.”

*** *** ***

One bright winter day succeeded the previous one, with plenty of sunlight. Heyes and Paula were taking long rides around the ranch perimeter to condition their horses, accompanied by Kid and sometimes by one or more of the others. 

Kid left Joe behind most of the time, taking a different one of the young horses each day to work with, usually choosing his mount from among the two-year-olds. Afternoons were spent teaching the two-year-olds about being driven in harness, and getting the yearlings accustomed to lightweight saddles. It was not particularly easy work, but it was not exhausting as working with cattle would have been, and in fact the two outlaws found working with the young horses extraordinarily rewarding, not to mention more pleasant than working with cattle. The horses were generally smarter and more cooperative than cattle were known to be, which made everybody’s tasks more enjoyable.

On the days when a late winter snow storm made it impossible to do much outside work, the men shovelled paths to each of the buildings, took hay to the windbreak shelters built in each pasture, and then brought leather tack pieces inside to mend and clean, while continuing to work with the horses as much as they could, using the long, wide alleyways built between the two facing rows of box stalls in each of the stables. 

Almost every evening, Heyes and Kid were able to play a few hands of poker with Lennox and the Ramsays. Except for the excellent food and the companionship of the women, it was not unlike spending the winter in Devil’s Hole. They had gotten accustomed to being piped awake in the mornings, and were starting to be able to distinguish between different tunes.

“Except here, we’re gettin’ paid for working with the horses,” Kid said to Heyes one evening as they got ready for bed. “I’m enjoyin’ the work. Aren’t you?”

“Yes. For a lot of reasons, not just because we’re helping the Wellingtons out and I’m able to spend time with Paula. Nice of Wellington to offer to pay us, wasn’t it? I mean, with me and Paula having an understanding, I figured we’d just get room and board, or I would. It’s true he should pay you, I suppose.”

“No reason why he shouldn’t pay you, too. You ain’t a partner here yet.”

“No. If we live long enough to see that happen. Speakin’ of gettin’ paid, though, we’d better start thinking about finding a job with some more money coming in. Just so we can lay up some cash for emergencies. It’s not that I want to leave, but …”

Curry sighed. He had been hoping his partner’s restlessness would be restrained by his enjoyment of Miss Wellington’s company. He should have known that this quiet, idyllic interlude was too good to last.

**Tuesday, March 1st, evening**

After supper, Heyes declined the usual invitation to play a game of poker. The mail had been brought up from town just before they sat down to eat, and it included Sunday’s edition of _The Rocky Mountain News_ , which he wanted to look at. He had explained to their hosts that he and Kid had better start looking for a high-paying job to finish out the spring, so they could replenish their savings. Admittedly, they had not spent all of the money paid to them by Captain Parmalee before they left Laredo, and they had had no occasion to spend any of the money they’d earned at the C Bar W, but he still thought they should be thinking of moving on.

“Do you find it dull here?” asked Paula, settling down with her knitting beside the fire.

“No, I don’t.” Heyes looked her directly in the eye, making sure she understood he wasn’t merely being polite. “I like everybody here, I like the work, I like the horses, and there’s even poker in the evenings, as well as your good library. A lot more interesting than spending the winter in the hideout up in Devil’s Hole. We did that for almost six years. It’s just that I get to feeling uneasy, spending too long in one place, like we’re not safe. I know we’re as safe here as we could be anywhere else—in fact, a lot safer—and I love spending time with you, darling, but … I can’t explain.”

“You’ve explained quite well,” she returned. “I was just wondering, when someday you are able to settle down, whether you would be happy here.”

“Yes, I think I could be. But that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Heyes? This might suit us.” Kid passed the paper over, folded open to a section of paid advertisements.

Scanning the page quickly, Heyes discovered that a new vein had been opened at a mine in Central City, owned by one of the new mining companies that were springing up. The item stated that there would be work available for any man showing up on the following Monday, March 7th, paying twenty-five dollars a week for as long as the job lasted. The mine owners were anxious to get out and process as much ore as they could in a short time, since they had a market lined up for quick sale of the gold.

“Yes, I think it might.” He read the section aloud.

“You really want to work in a hard-rock mine?” Lennox looked from one to the other of them quizzically. “Yeah, it’s good money, but it’s dangerous and uncomfortable. That’s more money than I get here, and you don’t see me rushing off to Central City.”

“Well, at least we can check it out,” responded Heyes. “If we don’t like it, we don’t have to stay very long, do we? I think we’d better plan on leaving here Friday morning, if that’s agreeable to everybody.” He put aside a twinge of uneasiness. The last time they had done any hard-rock gold mining had been early the previous summer, in the Sangre de Cristos, with Danny Bilson and poor old Seth, whose claim they had been working. And it most definitely had not turned out well. He exchanged a glance with Kid, who was looking sombre, apparently remembering the same thing.

After breakfast the next day, as the men were rising to go out to the stables, Paula said, “If you two are leaving Friday, Heyes, I think Paul and I will go with you as far as Boulder.” Her brother looked up sharply, but made no comment. “On the first weekend of the month, we usually go down to Boulder so that we can attend the service of Holy Communion at St. John’s Episcopal Church there. Then we sometimes stay over to Monday if we have business to transact in Denver. As far as I know, there is no business to be done …”

Paul shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

“All that must be arranged, then, is where I should put up, in Denver, so as to meet you when you come down from Central City. I’ve heard the Alvord House Hotel well spoken of. I could, of course, put up somewhere in Central City or Black Hawk, but from what I have heard, a lodging in Denver or Golden would be preferable. It’s up to you.”

A slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Wellington leaned back in his chair, steepled the tips of his fingers together, and waited to see what Hannibal Heyes would say to that. He had a suspicion that his prospective brother-in-law had not even considered the possibility that Paula might wish to accompany them. Catching Roy Lennox’s eye, he jerked his chin slightly toward the door. Lennox nodded, and he and the Ramsays gathered up their dishes and left the room. Ellen had already gone back to the kitchen, leaving Heyes and Curry and the Wellingtons alone in the dining room.

Heyes sat silent for a moment, marshalling his thoughts. Her manner was polite, but she seemed to be taking a good deal for granted. He wondered if it was indeed up to him, or if she had just added that submissive-sounding sentence for the sake of appearances. _Well, start at the beginning_. “First, you are absolutely not going anywhere near Central City. Yes, I know they have an opera house and some other vestiges of civilization, but it’s a pretty rough mining town, by all accounts, no place for a lady.” 

Paula nodded, and drew a breath to say something, but Heyes stopped her with a hand laid on hers. “Second, there’s no reason for you to go anywhere. You and Paul will come back up here after your church service. That’s what you usually do, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied, “but this is not our usual trip to Boulder.” Then what he had actually said seemd to register. “Darling, you’re not seriously suggesting that I should calmly come back here and go on about the work of the ranch, whilst the pair of you go more than two days’ ride away and get into Heaven knows how much trouble?”

Heyes shot an alarmed look at his partner. _Now what_? He had, in fact, been suggesting precisely that, in what he thought was a reasonable manner. Kid gave him a spurious look of sympathy and said nothing. “Well, I … Why should we get into any trouble? Even if we do, I can send you word, can’t I?”

“You’d have to send the wire, it would arrive down at the post office and have to be carried out here to the ranch, and then if there were a need for me to join you, I should be facing a journey of at least two days, very likely more, at this time of year, when snow occasionally blocks the roads or the tracks. I don’t want to be so far away. And from everything you have told us, you frequently get into trouble. What if someone recognizes you? Or there’s an accident at the mine? Or one of your horses breaks a leg?”

_Oh, she’s worried about the horse. Well, that makes sense_. Aloud, he added, “I could leave the Morgan-Arabian mare here, you know, and take my dun.”

Muttering something under her breath that sounded most unladylike, Paula protested, “No, she’s yours. You take her. If you have to run, she’s faster than anything the men chasing you will have, once you get past three furlongs, and she has more staying power.” As he did not respond, she said, “Well, that’s settled, then. I shall lodge at the Alvord House Hotel, and you can wire me when you plan to come to Denver.”

Heyes looked down to the end of the table. “Do you intend to let her do that?”

“If you’re asking me to use my brotherly authority to keep her from going to Denver to be nearer to you, you’re looking at the wrong man.” Paul chuckled. “I’m the younger twin by a full twenty minutes. I can’t prevent my sister doing whatever she wants to do. I should have thought you’d have more success at that than I.”

Paula picked up the teapot and walked toward the door into the back passageway, intending to refill it in the kitchen. She had heard the kettle boil a couple of minutes previously.

Heyes came to his feet. “Paula!” When she turned to look at him, he continued, sharply, “No, it is _not_ settled. Put the teapot down and come back here.”

“I was just getting more hot water.”

Crossing the room in three strides, Heyes removed the teapot from her hand and set it carefully down on a trivet on the sideboard before taking her firmly into his arms and kissing her.

Wellington’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll wager she slaps him.”

“Ten dollars says she doesn’t,” replied Kid instantly. He had an unfair advantage, as he had seen Heyes kiss Paula, without any protest on her part, on a number of different occasions since they left Texas, while her brother had no idea what had been going on. 

Paul shot him an odd look. “Done.” He was not in the habit of participating in wagers—his comment had been a mere figure of speech—but he couldn’t pass up a sure thing. After all, he knew his sister pretty well.

For the two by the door, the room seemed to recede into the background, leaving only themselves. Heyes did not let her go until she relaxed against his shoulder. Looking down at her in a little annoyance, he said in a quieter tone, “Stop arguing with me.”

Paula thought of half a dozen responses to that, but they were all in the nature of argument. She sighed. “I don’t want to argue with you, and, in fact, I wasn’t doing so—or I didn’t mean to, at any rate,” she amended, seeing his eyebrows rise. “I’m sorry.” As he made no reply, she continued, “But, Heyes, please don’t insist on my coming back here. It won’t do any harm for me to wait for you in Denver. I promise I won’t come up to Central City unless I hear from one of you that there’s an emergency of some kind. I just don’t care to be so far away from you if you should be in some kind of trouble. You agreed to let me share your life, didn’t you?”

“Yes, except for things I don’t want you to share, like gettin’ chased by a posse. I can’t really insist on anything—I know that—since we’re not married yet,” said Heyes, relenting. “You only agreed to obey me while we were travelling together. I suppose you can stay in Denver. And I’ll drop you a letter or a wire once a week, I promise.”

She flung her arms around his neck and looked up into his face, inviting him to kiss her again.

Silently, Paul Wellington drew two five-dollar gold pieces out and handed them to Curry, who pocketed them. Apparently he was not as well acquainted with his sister as he had thought.

Later in the day, Wellington found her out in the draught horse stable. “You’re not thinking of taking one of the Friesians with you, are you?”

“I might. I’m going to need a dependable pack animal that’s fast enough to keep up with my saddle horse, or with theirs, if we’re riding together, even at a gallop. I know we used Angus, the Morgan cross, for the Texas trip, and he worked out well, but he isn’t all that fast.”

“Why not take that Arabian molly mule?” At her blank look, he continued, “You remember, she was foaled four years ago out of the same mare that’s the dam of the black mare you’re riding now. The mare got loose, and the MacGregors found her down at their ranch, in the same pasture with their big jack burro. They brought her back, with apologies, and then we found out she was in foal.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. She had the most interesting-looking little molly foal. I should even say she was pretty, with such a sweet face—big wide eyes, small muzzle, slightly dished face and big ears that pointed in at the tips like her mother’s. I haven’t been working with her, though.”

“Jamie has. He thought she’d better be taught to pack, ride, and drive, the sooner the better. That combination of Arabian and burro is likely to produce one of the most stubborn animals in creation, though she seems to have inherited her dam’s intelligence and curiosity. Jamie says that if she takes a liking to you, she’s perfectly willing and cooperative. She has very good conformation for the sort of work you’d be using her for—wide chest, good, well-sprung ribs—and she’s a bit taller than that young mare of yours. Close to fifteen hands, I’d say. Saddle up and we’ll go out and get her. I believe she’s out with the rest of the four-year-olds.”

Paula nodded. “Shall I ask Heyes to come along?”

“He’s out in the Morgan pasture with Roy, taking hay to them, which they’ll need after this last snowfall. And Kid’s out with Dougal, taking hay to the Arabian brood mares. Besides, I want to talk to you.”

Riding out to the pasture where the few four-year-olds were kept, Paul turned in the saddle so he could see his sister’s face. “It’s obvious that you and Heyes are getting on well, and I noticed that he’s succeeded in winning Ellen’s heart. I take it I don’t need to worry whether he still loves you.”

“No, I don’t believe you do.” She looked out between her horse’s ears at the scenery, to conceal her blushes.

“And you’re certain he has no plans to back out of this arrangement?”

“I shouldn’t think it likely.”

“You’re not worried, then, that once he leaves, he won’t come back.”

“No,” she replied, “I know he’ll be back, though how soon would be another question. I trust him, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“Then tell me just why you are so set on accompanying them. You say you’re worried they’ll get in trouble, and you want to be within reach, but if I may point out, they’ve been avoiding trouble successfully for over a year now. What could you do that they can’t do for themselves?”

“I might be able to do something, not being wanted by the law myself, that they couldn’t do if they were recognized and arrested.”

“Yes? Such as what, for example?”

“I suppose I’d have to figure out a way to get them free.”

Wellington sighed. “And get yourself arrested whilst you’re at it?”

“I hope not. Paul, what are you worrying about? It’s not like you to go on for ever about something like this.”

“I don’t know that I should say I’m worrying, precisely,” he replied, mendaciously. “I’m just trying to understand. This is a completely new situation.”

She drew her reins up, halting her mare. “Yes, it is, which means I can’t answer your questions properly, because I don’t know the answers. As for wanting not to be too far away from Heyes whilst they’re up in Central City … I can’t explain it, but I just feel that it would be better if I were to put up at a hotel in Denver.”

When women began having feelings they couldn’t explain, Paul knew it was useless to protest further. He touched his horse with his heel and they started forward again. “All right. Then you had best take a little extra money with you. And I shall have to plan on hiring help, if necessary, to cover the work that you usually do in the spring. All that is going to cost, and at this time of year you know we are often a trifle short of funds.”

“Then I shall take a little cash out of our savings account in Denver. I am not being irresponsible, truly I’m not, but try to understand. I have to do this.”

“All right. Just keep me informed at reasonable intervals.”

“I shall.”

By this time, they had arrived at the gate of the four-year-old pasture. Paul dismounted, opened the gate, and held it for her to pass through before leading his own horse through and securing the gate again. They would have no trouble catching the mule, as she and the six horses trotted toward them immediately, hoping for attention or even a treat.

Dark bay Arabian mule, photo ©Leroy Van Dyke

While her brother took some oats from a bag he had slung over the saddle horn, to aid in catching the one they wanted, Paula watched the dark bay mule closely as she approached. She was extremely athletic, quick, agile and sure in all of her movements—a delight to watch, having all of the grace of her Arabian dam, together with the surefooted, deliberate gait inherited from her sire. Her body was very well proportioned, with a smaller head and slightly shorter ears than a mule from a quarter mare would have. Her face even had a very slightly dished profile, with the Arabian’s long eyelashes and very widely set eyes.

Ears forward in curiosity, the molly came to a halt in front of the visitors, dipping her muzzle gracefully into Wellington’s hand to get the oats, then accepting with perfect aplomb the halter which was slipped over her head. Paul handed the lead rope to his sister while he shared out handfuls of oats to the other denizens of the pasture, so that no one should feel slighted. Leading the molly, they went back through the pasture gate and shut it behind them before Paul mounted and turned his horse’s head toward the house.

“You can’t just keep calling her ‘molly,’ you know. What do you plan to name her?” he asked quizzically. ‘Molly’ was simply the term for a female mule.

“Name her? Oh, of course. I hadn’t thought, really. I’m still trying to think of a name for this little lady.” She patted her horse’s neck.

“How about ‘Prudence’? For the molly?”

Paula looked at him sharply. “Why? I didn’t see any indication that she was particularly prudent; no more so than a mule usually is. She came right up to us.”

“I just thought it would be a good choice, especially as it doesn’t really apply to her.”

“In other words, you wish to remind me that you think _I_ am being imprudent.” As he made no reply, she chuckled. “Very well, ‘Prudence’ it is, then. I wonder what Heyes will say when I explain that to him?”

Putting Prudence into a stall in the stable closest to the house, Paula unsaddled her mare, gave each animal a bait of corn, and set to work with a dandy brush on the mule’s coat. She had been running free in the pasture and had collected quite a lot of dirt. Paula had also noticed a mark on her forehead where one of her pasture mates had recently kicked her. The hair would soon grow back; meanwhile, it gave some indication of the mule’s placid disposition, since no marks of kicks or bites had been observed on the horses with which she had been. 

Her brother finished caring for his own horse, seized a wide-toothed comb and some oil, and began to work carefully on Prudence’s tangled mane and tail. The mule stood quietly, enjoying the attention.

Heyes found both of them there when he came back from hauling the hay, unharnessing the Friesian pair he had driven, and putting the sleigh away in the end of the stable which served as a carriage house. 

“Who’s this fine lady?” he asked, stroking the mule’s neck and scratching the bases of her ears. She rubbed her head gratefully against him.

“This is Prudence. She’s going to be my pack animal; that is, ours, if you and Kid want to leave your dress suits and hats with me as usual. You won’t need them in Central City, I suppose, since you’re surely not planning to go to the opera without me. Are you?”

“No, of course not.” Heyes had been promised long enough to know the right thing to say to such a question. “Besides, I think we’d need evening dress for that, and we don’t have any. Never saw the need for it, really. Tell me about Prudence. She’s sure a pretty little thing, for a mule.”

“That’s because she’s half Arabian,” Paula explained. “In fact, she’s a half-sister to my black mare here.” She nodded to the next stall. “She can also be ridden and driven, so she should be able to make herself quite useful. I suppose they could even be driven as a pair. Prudence is only a little taller than the mare, whom I’ve not found a name for yet.”

“Why ‘Prudence’, then?” asked Heyes.

“That was my suggestion,” Wellington supplied, “after Paula told me all about why she is insisting on accompanying the two of you at least as far as Denver.”

Heyes’s crooked smile dawned. “I see. But you don’t have to worry. We’ll look after her—Paula, that is—while she’s with us, and she should be safe enough waiting for us in Denver. I’ll try to remind her to be prudent. And you know us. We’re always prudent, Kid and I.”

* * *

[1] Here is a good rendition of the tune by a solo piper, followed by a band performance of a 6/8 march, “Atholl Highlanders.” <https://youtu.be/ZIbaQOj4T60> The history of the tune, with its lyrics, and why it is used by some Scottish regiments in the British Army as a reveille call, is here: <http://cornemusique.free.fr/ukjohnnycope.php>

[2] Here’s an excellent rendition by P/M Nick MacVicar <https://youtu.be/1vE0sZgHs6I>. And this is another good recording, interesting because it was recorded by P/M John McColl in 1899, not too long after the date that this story takes place <https://youtu.be/3gZZpinoOwo>. 


	7. Birthdays, Selkies, and a Massacre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their last leisurely night at the Wellingtons' ranch, Heyes and Kid hear of a shocking incident in Scottish history and decide to join the inhabitants of the ranch in an evening song fest in preference to their usual game of poker.

**C Bar W Ranch, Wednesday, March 3d, 1881, evening**

The party had settled down in the back parlor as was usual after dinner. Kid took Heyes into a corner briefly, under the pretence of selecting a new book from the shelf, since he was almost finished with the one he had been reading—a volume of short stories by Edward Everett Hale, entitled _The Man Without a Country and Other Tales_. He had seen Ellen baking two cakes earlier in the afternoon, and thought he’d better bring something up with his partner.

“What is it?”

“I think you forgot something, Heyes.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“The Wellingtons told us their birthdays are in March. You never asked what day in March, and I think you oughta. What if it was the first, or the second, or today, and you haven’t paid Paula any special attention?”

“You’re right. I should have asked about that a long time ago. Just keep forgetting it. Well, no time like the present.” He swung around, shifting his facial expression to one of cheerful confidence. “Paula, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you. I know your birthday is in March—both of you—but you never said what day. I don’t want to miss wishing you a happy birthday.”

To his surprise, she blushed. “As a matter of fact … we are twenty-eight years old this very day. But there’s no need to make a fuss over it. I know yours was in February—you’ve turned thirty-one, haven’t you? And you never mentioned the exact date, and so we didn’t make a fuss over you, either.”

“Today!” Heyes exclaimed. Under his breath, he added, “Just in time. Thanks for reminding me, Kid.” He walked over, took Paula’s hands, and pulled her to her feet so he could hug her. “The best birthday wishes, darling! And mine’s the twenty-fourth of February, but I didn’t remember. I wasn’t paying much attention to the days; they all went by so fast. Besides, I don’t want to celebrate being thirty-one—just means I’m startin’ to get old—you know, over the hill. But what about celebrating this one?” He kissed her quickly. “There, if I don’t remember to give you anything else. And best wishes to you as well,” he added, turning to shake hands with his brother-in-law to be.

“Thank you.” Paul was laughing. He had not failed to notice the exchange of whispers between the partners, followed by the sudden assumption of confidence, as though Heyes had not just been taken by surprise. It was an endearing trait, that ability to put on a completely new expression so swiftly, but it could lead to communication problems in the future, if he and his lady did not come to some kind of understanding about it. Paul hoped his sister would be able to accept it without seeing it as evidence of dishonesty.

“That chestnut mare can be a birthday gift for you, Heyes, even though I didn’t know at the time.” Paula had resumed her seat, but she looked up at him with such a mischievous smile that he forgot what he had been going to say.

“Yes, so she can,” he managed to say after a moment. “Thank you, sweetheart. I think she’s gonna suit me fine.”

Ellen poked her head in from the direction of the kitchen. “Jamie, Dougal, if you’ll give me a hand here?” Her sons sprang up with alacrity and went to the kitchen to help carry trays. Looking thoughtful, Paula excused herself for a moment, returning a few minutes later with a small teakwood box in her hands.

“Hannibal? Will you accept this, for a proper birthday gift? I found it in Laredo, but an opportunity to give it to you never presented itself, so I had laid it aside.” She deliberately phrased herself in such a way that she hoped Heyes would not dare to ask why she had purchased such a thing and had been unable to give it. He did not need to know that she had bought it as a possible Christmas gift and had then given up hope of ever being able to give it to him.

Surprised, he took the box in his hands and opened it. It proved to be an elegant man’s toiletry kit, with each piece nestled into its own shaped space in the hand-carved interior. Heyes had never seen, let alone owned, such a thing in his life. Overcome, he murmured a few words of thanks, and carried the box to his room forthwith.

Ellen re-entered the parlor, carrying a tray with an elaborate two-layer cake on it, frosted with chocolate icing. Setting the tray down on the card table, which had been set out as usual for the poker game that, this evening, had completely slipped Heyes’s mind, she explained. “Customarily I dinna bake cakes for their birthday, as neither of them is fond of sweet things, but since you’re here, Heyes, and you, too, Jed, I thought you would enjoy this. There are other things for Miss Paula and Mr. Paul to eat.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind of you, Ellen. By the way …” A thought suddenly crossed Heyes’s mind. “Since we’re having birthday cake, I suppose I oughta mention about Kid, here. His birthday’s in three days, on the sixth.” He ducked hastily as his cousin aimed a fat little pillow at him, snatched up from the arm chair.

“That’s all right, Kid.” Paula intervened. “You see that Ellen made two cakes, since there are six of you to enjoy eating them and only two of us who don’t.” She gestured to the tray just brought in by Jamie, which held a second large two-layer cake, this one with a cream-colored frosting smelling of vanilla. “Since Miss O’More’s not present to help you celebrate, we shall do so. And when I have a chance to make her acquaintance, I shall pass on the information, so she won’t miss your birthday, as I just did Heyes’s.”

Kid accorded this remark a faint smile, and allowed her to serve him a slice of the chocolate cake, which turned out to be flavored with chocolate all the way through, not just in the frosting. “I don’t know when that’s likely to happen—you gettin’ to meet her. I told her we’d come to Telluride in the early summer, but it’s a long ride, and I don’t imagine you’ll be going with us. Her birthday is in May, since we’re talkin’ about birthdays.”

“Well, we can certainly write to one another, can we not? I should like to correspond with her, since we have so much to talk about together.”

The two outlaws exchanged alarmed glances. ‘So much to talk about’ could only refer to Miss Wellington’s determination to talk with Miss O’More about _them_. Who knew what would happen when the two women started getting together, telling secrets, and making plans?

“If you’re not having any cake,” Heyes objected, “what are you and Paul gonna eat? You can’t just sit there and watch us, can you?”

“That’s taken care of.” Dougal came in from the kitchen with a third tray, bearing a moulded gelatine shape, golden-orange in color, with suspended bits of fruit visible in its interior. A bowl of whipped cream accompanied the concoction.

“Is that a gelatine salad?” Paula sat up straighter, curious. “I’ve never seen one made with fruit juices.” 

“Aye. The citrus fruit you brought with you from Texas served admirably both for juice and filling. And it’s quite tart. I think you’ll both like it.”

“So that’s what you were doing all day in the kitchen! Ellen, you shouldn’t have taken the trouble! How kind of you!”

“Yes, indeed.” Paul got up with alacrity to help serve the delicacy. “I’m sure we shall both enjoy it very much.” He looked round at the others. “And after we’ve had our helpings, you may all sample some if you wish, but …” he had carried a bit to his mouth on the tip of a finger “she’s right. It’s quite tart. You probably won’t like it.”

“It wasna so much work as ye’re thinkin’, either. I have some of that patented stuff, _Portable Gelatin_ , made so that you can just add hot water to it. No need to stand there for six hours making gelatine from scratch.”

Paula was trying the new dessert. “It’s made from oranges and grapefruits, is it not? It’s wonderful!”

“ _Tapadh leat, m’ uan bheag_. There is a wee bit of lemon juice in there as well.”

Heyes mouthed to his cousin the second part of what it sounded like Ellen had said. The first part had sounded something like ‘top hat’. “Mooin’ Vake?” He supposed that might make a certain amount of sense—the Spanish word for cow was _vaca_ , and they did make a noise that sounded like ‘moo’. _But in that case … no, that can’t be it_ …

Paul saw this and chuckled. “She was just saying, ‘thank you, my wee lamb.’ I finally got her to stop calling me that. Now she only does it to Paula.”

“Och, away with you!” Ellen protested. “I havena said such a thing to you since we came to America.”

“All right, I was just having you on a bit.”

Conversation flagged as the men concentrated on eating large helpings of the two cakes. Everyone had at least one slice from each cake, so there was considerably less left on each tray by the time it occurred to Heyes that there was something else he wanted to ask—another one of those Scottish mysteries that seemed to be a mystery only to him and Kid. If he was to have any opportunity to have it explained, it would probably have to be this evening. Tomorrow night, he and Kid and the Wellingtons would all be packing for the trip to Denver, and trying to get to bed earlier.

“Back when we were talking about Highland notions of hospitality,” he said to Paula, “you said something about a bad thing that happened in 1692.” Looking at Ellen, he added, “She said you’d be the one to tell us about it, since one of your ancestors was involved somehow. I promise Kid and I will do up all the dishes tonight if you’ll tell us the story.”

“ _Murt Ghlinne Comhainn_. That tale.” Ellen’s face became very sober. “I’ll tell it as best I can, but I heard most of the story in the Gaelic, and I’m thinking Miss Paula or Mr. Paul will be having to help me out with telling it in the English. You should begin, Mr. Paul.”

“The massacre of Glen Coe,” Paul explained to the outlaws, “was a tragedy planned, and caused, mostly by certain politically well-connected Lowland Scots, but the subsequent investigation embarrassed the English government so much that a great deal of pressure, and effort, was applied to re-casting the event as merely the latest in a long series of warlike encounters between the Campbells and the MacDonalds. The truth was quite different. And the Campbells were as angry about how the—I’d have to call it propaganda—was done as the MacDonalds were, and still are.”

“Is that what you were referring to when you said the Campbells and MacDonalds are enemies, and shouldn’t marry each other?” Heyes was looking at Jamie.

“Oh, no. They are indeed enemies, or they were at one time,” the young man replied, “but the feud goes much further back than 1692. That’s what made it convenient for the government to blame the Glen Coe killings on a feud between the MacDonalds of Glen Coe and Campbell of Glen Lyon. To an outsider, it would just be another episode like those that were always happening up in the Highlands among those primitive warring clans.” He muttered something in Gaelic that sounded like an imprecation, his eyes flashing. “At least, that’s what the English hoped.”

“We’d better start at the beginning, or Heyes and Kid will get completely lost. I’ll try to make it short, until we get to the night of February 13th, 1692.” Wellington paused to collect his thoughts. 

“This Lowland politician, Dalrymple, not a Campbell nor even a Gaelic speaker, found out that MacIain, the chief of the MacDonalds of Glen Coe, had not made his oath of submission to the government in proper form. They were requiring that oath of anybody who might have been supposed to have supported the deposed King James the Seventh and Second, because the new king, William of Orange, was nervous after the fighting that had flared up in Scotland in support of King James. Dalrymple suggested to the government that they should make an example out of MacIain and his whole clan. If they were to kill them all, then other Scots who might still want to support King James would think twice about it. Of course, the whole plan would have to be called off if MacIain managed to swear his oath in front of the proper authorities within the time limit.”

“That’s ugly,” murmured Kid.

“Yes. As it happened, MacIain had friends who warned him that something of the sort was afoot, and they did their best to help him get to Inveraray in time, where he could swear the oath. Sir Colin Campbell of Ardkinglas, the Sheriff of Argyle, accepted his oath, wrote out a signed affidavit stating that MacIain had made his submission, and forwarded the oath and the affidavit to the Privy Council in Edinburgh by express messenger, to ensure that no operations would be undertaken against MacIain. Relieved, knowing his clansfolk would be safe, MacIain went back home.”

Heyes was leaning forward, his sensitive fingers tightening on the edge of the table next to him. “That’s not the end of the story, I take it.” He was surprised at himself, starting to take almost as much of an interest in this two-hundred-year-old story as his hosts did. And they all seemed to regard it like something that had happened a year ago. Even Wellington, with his typically unemotional habit of speech, showed signs of agitation, as if he had known the participants personally.

“No. Ardkinglas did not know it at the time, but he discovered later that after the documents had been received in the proper quarters in Edinburgh, the records were altered so as to expunge all mention of them. Dalrymple and those in league with him were determined to go ahead.”

“Altering government records?” asked Kid. “That would take a lot of influence, wouldn’t it?”

“Written authorization from King William, based on an inaccurate report of the situation made by Dalrymple to the King. That was enough to go on with. But they could not so easily eradicate the memories of the honourable men who knew differently.”

Paul stopped and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. “One of Ellen’s ancestors was a MacDonald: one of those who escaped, came to Argyle to ask for help, and subsequently settled there.[1] She should tell the rest of the tale.”

Roy Lennox quietly got up, cut another piece of cake, poured out a cup of tea, and changed his seat for one beside Ellen, taking the plate and cup with him. He was not as familiar with the story as the Campbells in the room were, but he could see that his fiancée was growing distressed, even before beginning to recount the next part.

Thanking him with a smile and a squeeze of his hand, Ellen sipped some of the fresh tea and began. “Och, well, I will just tell the important part. Round the beginning of February, and this was in the year 1692, ye’ll understand, a company of the Argyle militia were sent to Glen Coe. They had orders showing that they had peaceable duties in the area, so they were billeted in the homes of the MacDonalds there. That was a common thing at that time. The captain of the company, Robert Campbell of Glen Lyon, was kin by marriage to the chief’s family as well. Many of the men in the company were Campbells, but some were from other clans, including Stewart and MacDonald. Some were from the Lowlands of Scotland—these last didna have the Gaelic, and they didna understand about the duties of a host to his guest or the guest’s duties to his host, whose salt he had eaten, whose food he had shared. And one, a sergeant, was an Englishman.” She stopped to eat a few bites of cake and to gather her thoughts in what was still very much a second language for her.

“Wait a minute. They considered the soldiers guests, even though they didn’t have any choice about whether to take ’em in or not?” That didn’t make sense to Heyes, though this story was helping him to understand something he had wondered about since childhood, which was the Third Amendment to the United States Constitution, forbidding the quartering of soldiers in civilian homes in peacetime. Since the practice was forbidden, neither he nor any other American of the generations succeeding those who fought in the Revolutionary War had ever seen or experienced it.

“Yes,” said Ellen proudly. “That is the Highland way. On the twelfth of February, Glen Lyon received written orders from his superior, Major Duncanson. The orders told him to ‘fall upon the MacDonalds of Glen Coe, and put all to the sword under seventy.’ The orders contained a threat that he would be in serious trouble with the King if he did not comply. As far as we know, Glen Lyon had no suspicion that these orders were coming. Perhaps they thought, his superiors, that he might have refused if he had been told ahead of time. Some of his officers, when given their orders, did refuse. Two of them broke their swords rather than participate. And it is said that Glen Lyon’s own piper, who was in the habit of playing a tune each evening to signal the end of the day, chose a different tune that night—an old song called _A’ Mhnathan a’ Ghlinne Seo_ _—_ Women of This Glen. Some of the soldiers suggested to their hosts to go out for a wee _cuairt_ —a walk, ye understand. In February, in the snow. They hoped that would make it obvious there was something wrong—some reason they should not be in the house during the night. And there were other warnings.”

She stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “When the killing started before dawn the next morning, enough of the people had been warned that the soldiers—those who were willing to do it—only managed to get thirty-eight of those they had been told to kill. Another forty or so, mostly women and children, died from exposure. MacIain’s son, Alasdair _Òg_ , led the remainder of his folk over a mountain pass to the west—aye, in the dark and the snow—and down into Appin. The Stewarts there helped as much as they could, but some of the fugitives feared to stay there, since the Stewarts were known to be out of sympathy with the government. Soldiers might come looking for them in Appin. A few went south into Argyle, to ask help there. Some of those settled there and never went back to Glen Coe. My great-great-grandfather was one of those.” She stopped, unable to continue. 

Wellington picked up the story. “One of the younger officers of Glen Lyon’s command, a Stewart, left Glen Coe some time during the night and made his way on foot across Scotland to beg help of the Duke of Gordon. It’s known that the Duke of Gordon went to London post-haste to demand an investigation. And in spite of those who have said that the Earl of Argyle, the chief of our clan at the time, was involved in the conspiracy, we know that he also put pressure on the government to investigate. It’s further known, as Ellen said, that his subordinates, especially the sheriff, Campbell of Ardkinglas, welcomed the survivors and gave them food and shelter.” 

He sighed. “The investigation produced a report that did its best to whitewash most of the participants, but that is by the way.[2] The reason we started to tell this story was to give you some more understanding of what hospitality and honour mean to a Highlander. Glen Lyon knew that he ought to have refused the orders or taken some other action besides what he did. He simply didn’t know how best to proceed and still save his honour. He was later sent to Flanders, but he became increasingly unwell—not quite sane, some said—unable to carry out his military duties, and died four years after the massacre. So that is what happened when Highlanders were ordered to violate their honour. Most of them refused to comply, even at the risk of their lives and their military careers, and those who did comply, such as Glen Lyon, were unable to live with themselves.”

Exchanging a look with his cousin, Heyes ventured, “If that was meant to convince us that we’re safe here, well, we know that now. Only I hope no one gets killed on our account—or us, for that matter.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to be killed,” said Paul, “but what I do see in that story that resembles your trouble is a similarity to your understanding with Sheriff Lom Trevors, up in Wyoming—the fact that he’s your only contact with Governor Hoyt—the only one aside from the governor who knows about this amnesty promise that was made to you. If something happens to him—not that I think Governor Hoyt would have him murdered or anything of that nature …”

Heyes and Kid looked at each other again. “We’ve thought about that a lot,” said Heyes. “But there’s a paper somewhere. I suppose it’s in Lom’s office. It has our signatures on it, agreeing to the amnesty conditions. Lom signed it, as a witness, and it has the governor’s signature as well. That might be worth something, if anything happens to Lom.”

“I’m not a lawyer, but I should think that might be very important.” Paul was surprised—this was the first time they had mentioned the existence of such a document. “In any case, now we know about the existence of the paper. That will help, if you ever need witnesses.”

Heyes nodded. “Thanks. I never thought of that.”

Roy, still with his arm around Ellen’s waist, said quietly, “Dear, do you know that song you spoke of? ‘Women of This Glen’? Would you sing it for us?”

“I dinna know the original song. The words I know were written after the massacre, to commemorate the dead. But they are in the Gaelic, and it will weary the three of you who have none.”

Lennox, Heyes, and Curry all assured her that this would not be the case. Paula offered to translate the song after it had been sung. So Ellen began: 

_A’ mhnathan a’ ghlinne seo, ’ghlinne seo, ’ghlinne seo  
’Mhnathan a’ ghlinne seo, ’s mithich dhuibh éiridh._

_’S mise rinn ’mhoch-éiridh, ’mhoch-éiridh, ’mhoch-éiridh  
‘S mise rinn ’mhoch-éiridh, agaibhs’ bha feum air._

_Mharbh iad am buachaille, ’m buachaille, ’m buachaille  
Mharbh iad am buachaill’, bha ’cuallach na spréidhe._

_An crodh air an togail, an crodh air an togail,  
An crodh air an togail, ’s na fir air an reubadh._

_’S Iain dubh, biorach, dubh, Iain dubh, biorach, dubh  
’S Iain dubh, biorach, dubh, ‘g iomain na spréidhe._

_A’ mhnathan a’ ghlinne seo, ’ghlinne seo, ’ghlinne seo  
’Mhnathan a’ ghlinne seo, ’s mithich dhuibh éiridh._ _[3]_

There was a silence after Ellen’s lone sweet voice faded. The tune was laden with overwhelming sadness, even if one could not understand the words. After a pause, Paula, who had been making notes, began translating.

Women of this glen, this glen, this glen,  
Women of this glen, now is the time for you to rise.  
It was I made an early rise, early rise, early rise,  
It was I made an early rise; there was need for you to have done so.

They killed the shepherd, the shepherd, the shepherd,  
They killed the shepherd who was tending the cattle.  
The cattle are taken, the cattle are taken,  
The cattle are taken, and the men are wounded.

Black Iain, black, sharp-eyed, black, sharp-eyed, black, sharp-eyed,  
Black Iain, black, sharp-eyed, driving off the cattle.  
Women of this glen, this glen, this glen,  
Women of this glen, now is the time for you to rise. 

She ended. “I believe there are more verses, and also a different version, which begins with ‘People of This Glen’, is that not so?”

“Aye, I’m thinking that, but this is what my mother taught me.”

“What was that about driving off the cattle?” asked Kid. “Did they have a problem with rustlers, as well as the killing?”

As Ellen shook her head, Paul spoke up. “I’m not certain, mind you, but I think that refers to the soldiers having driven away all of the livestock belonging to the Glen Coe MacDonalds. Over seven hundred head of cattle, plus horses and sheep, were taken north to Fort William and shared out to the army officers there.” His accent, which normally showed an English public school influence, was disintegrating rapidly under the stress of the topic of conversation and the Gaelic song.

“Leaving the survivors without any food?” hazarded Curry.

“Yes. It was deliberate. Government-sanctioned rustling, I suppose one could call it. To be honest, I have to say that the words in the song could also refer to some of the Glen Garry and Glen Coe MacDonalds having raided some of Glen Lyon’s own personal cattle several months earlier. The government used that incident, too, trying to make a pretence that the massacre was some kind of response to that. As Glen Lyon was kin to MacIain’s family by marriage, that was unlikely; besides, there is abundant evidence that the massacre was a military operation.” 

Lennox spoke up. “Ellen is very distressed, and I think we should talk about something else.” He was as shaken by the story, which he had never heard in full, as the outlaws had been. Obviously, the excesses of government troops against civilians on both sides, before and during the Civil War, were not a problem unique to America.

Paula got up and went to the piano. “That’s put me in the mood for singing. Let us see if I can find some songs everyone knows.” She pulled music from the piano bench, and began to play the first chords of a song written nine years earlier by a resident of Kansas, entitled ‘My Western Home’.

Oh, give me a home where the Buffalo roam  
Where the Deer and the Antelope play;  
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,  
And the sky is not cloudy all day.

A home, a home,  
Where the Deer and the Antelope play,  
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,  
And the sky is not cloudy all day. 

Oh! give me a land where the bright diamond sand  
Throws its light from the glittering streams,  
Where glideth along the graceful white swan,  
Like the maid in her heavenly dreams.[4]

As the lovely song was already becoming well-known across the West, everyone joined in on the choruses, and the mood of the gathering began to lighten.

“How about ‘ _Oran na Maighdinn Mhara_ ’, if they have no objection to another Gaelic song?” suggested Ellen. “You know that was always a favourite of yours.”

“Of course.” Giving herself the beginning notes with a couple of introductory chords, Paula lifted her hands from the keys and began the ballad unaccompanied, her eyes resting on her lover’s face as she sang. 

_A mach air bharr nan stuadh ri gaillionn,  
Fuachd is feannadh fad o thìr,  
Bha mo ghaol dhuit daònan fallainn,  
Ged is maighdinn mhara mì._

_Hùbha i ’s na horainn hùbha,  
Hùbha i ’s na horainn hì,  
Hùbha i ’s na horainn hùbha,  
’S ann le foill a mheall thu mì._

Here she faltered. “That’s not right. He never did anything of the kind. Ellen, why did you suggest this song?”

“Because I wanted to see, in your face,” the older woman responded, “just what I’m seeing now. I wanted to be certain, and … och, I thought he should know it, too. I’ll explain it to him later. Go on.” 

_Chan eil mo chadal-sa ach luaineach  
’Nuair bhios buaireas air an tìd’.  
Bha mi ’n raoir an Coirre Bhreacainn,  
’S bithidh mi ’nochd an Eilean I._

_Hùbha i ’s na horainn hùbha,  
Hùbha i ’s na horainn hì,  
Hùbha i ’s na horainn hùbha,  
’S ann le foill a mheall thu mì._

There was another verse, but Paula was blushing too vividly to continue. She rose and began gathering up the plates and cups. “I’ll be back directly,” she murmured, and vanished in the direction of the kitchen. 

“I can tell it’s a love song,” said Kid. “Explain what it’s about, before she comes back.”

Ellen obligingly translated:

Out on the crest of the waves in storms,  
Cold and chilled, far from land,  
My love for you is always faithful,  
Though ’tis a mermaid that I am.

_Hùbha i ’s na horainn hùbha,  
Hùbha i ’s na horainn hì,  
Hùbha i ’s na horainn hùbha,  
It was with guile that you deceived me._

My sleep is sporadic  
When there is troubled weather.  
Last night I spent in Corry Vreckan (the Speckled Whirlpool),  
And tonight it’s in Iona that I’ll be.[5]

“Mermaid isna quite the right word,” explained Ellen. “The lady is a selkie—that is, a seal maiden who can change into human form and marry a human man, if she sees one whom she grows to love. But she is always afraid that he will tire of her, because they are not of the same kind. The song is to let him know that she will love him always, in spite of the differences between them.”

By this time, Heyes was getting almost as much color in his cheeks as his lady had done, but he managed to pull himself together. “You wanted me to see that she loves me that way?”

“Aye. And you did see it, did you not?”

“I sure did. Maybe she’ll sing it again. We can ignore that one line. I would never deceive her, or cheat on her, or … or anything like that.”

When Paula came back, which she did in a surprisingly short time, she acquiesced gracefully to Heyes’s request to hear the song again, and then asked him and Kid to favour the company with the song that they had taught her on the way up from Texas, ‘Simple Gifts’. 

Next, Kid contributed ‘The Green Grass Grew All Around’, in which Roy joined enthusiastically, and the Scottish part of the group responded with ‘The Rattlin’ Bog’ under Paula’s direction, leaving all the participants out of breath and laughing. 

The singing continued for more than an hour, each man contributing a song or two in turn. After the Ramsays had sung some of their favourites, Kid sang ‘Little Liza Jane’, with Heyes joining him on the chorus.

I got a gal that I adore,  
Little Liza Jane.  
Way down south in Baltimore,  
Little Liza Jane.

Oh Eliza, Little Liza Jane,  
Oh Eliza, Little Liza Jane.

Down where she lives the posies grow,  
Little Liza Jane.  
Chickens round the kitchen door,  
Little Liza Jane.

I couldn't care how far we roam,  
Little Liza Jane.  
Where she's at is home sweet home,  
Little Liza Jane.[6]

Eventually, everyone reluctantly had to make ready to retire. And someone remembered that the cow had not yet been milked nor the chickens fed.

* * *

[1] This occurrence is supported by documents in the holdings of the Argyll Archives at Inveraray Castle, as told by the 12th Duke of Argyll to the author in 1977.

[2] Many of the details of this story were obtained from or checked against the book _Slaughter Under Trust: Glencoe, 1692,_ by Donald J. MacDonald of Castleton.

[3] Here is an excellent performance of the song by a native Gaelic speaker from Nova Scotia. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U92ZyEDjNnY> Only the first 1:20 minutes are taken up with her singing; the remainder is pipe and piano music.

[4] These are the original words to the song we now know as “Home on the Range.”

[5] Here is a good recording of the song, though the woman only sings the first verse. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4oWEYB2OJs> And there is also this one, with all three verses, but sung by a man. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IblXA1pJZ5M>

[6] Here’s a good audio file of the song. <https://americanfolklore.net/mp3/littlelizajane.mp3>


	8. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Estes Park at the beginning of March, Heyes and Curry spend a few days in Denver and Golden before travelling to Central City to take jobs in a gold mine. They are attracted by the promised pay, but Heyes regrets the necessity of leaving his fiancée behind in Denver. Where they are going is no place for a lady.

**Boulder, Colorado, Friday, March 4th, 1881**

After the twenty-mile ride down the canyon to Lyons, the travellers pushed on to Boulder. They had made fairly good time, arriving in Boulder just after 2:00 p.m. 

“I’d like to stay here until Sunday and go to church with you,” offered Heyes, “but if we need to be up in Central City by Sunday night, I don’t think we can.”

Brother and sister looked at one another. “We could go on to Denver today,” Paul suggested, “and check in at the Alvord House, where Paula plans to stay, then go on out to Golden Saturday afternoon and go to church in Golden on Sunday. From there, you could leave for Central City by train early Monday morning. Paula and I will return to Alvord House, and I can take a train for home on Monday.”

This plan was followed. After arriving in Denver, the party proceeded to the Alvord House Hotel at 18th and Larimer, where the Wellingtons each took a room, while Heyes and Curry shared a room according to their usual custom. 

Alvord House Hotel, 1881

They made arrangements for the Wellingtons’ rooms to be kept for their return on the following Monday, and sent a wire to the Astor House Hotel in Golden, making reservations for three rooms there for Saturday and Sunday nights. As the Alvord House was lavishly appointed, Wellington also hired a private parlor so that the four of them would have somewhere to meet and talk in the evening, without having to watch what they said for fear of being overheard.

Mindful that her birthday was just a few days past, and that he had not yet given her anything in observance of it, Heyes invited Paula to accompany him to a music-hall concert.

“It’s Friday night in Denver,” she objected in surprise. “You want to give up one of the most lucrative poker opportunities of the week, just to take me to a concert?”

“Sure,” Heyes assured her virtuously. “That is, if you’d like to go. I can find a good poker game any time, but your birthday was Wednesday, and I’d like to take you out somewhere.” This speech came out smoothly enough as a result of careful advance planning on Heyes’s part, following some coaching from his partner. Kid had pointed out that though Miss Wellington certainly loved him, just the way he was—God alone knew why, Kid had added—she would no doubt be grateful, as any woman was likely to be, if he attended to her comfort and showed that he was thinking of her by offering various little attentions. Aware, though he would never admit it aloud, that Kid knew far more about how to relate to women socially than he himself did, Heyes had agreed, and a careful perusal of the _Rocky Mountain News_ had suggested the idea of the concert. 

In the morning, the four of them breakfasted in the hotel dining room, discussing their next moves over an excellent meal of bacon and eggs, supplemented with two different kinds of quick breads, and a dish of venison chunks served warm in a _ragoût_. Mrs. Alvord, the proprietress, was known for the excellence of her cooking.

The discussion resulted in the party's splitting into two parts: Paul to take his sister shopping for a few necessities at the Denver Dry Goods Company, and Heyes and Curry to do some shopping of their own. They needed to replenish their stocks of ammunition and buy a few other items, and Heyes had another errand.

“O.K., out with it,” said Kid when they found themselves alone, walking down 16th Street out of earshot of any passers-by. “You’ve been mysterious all morning.”

“I hope Paula didn’t think so.”

“I know you better than she does. What have you got in mind?”

“There’s a jeweller down this way. Haberl, I think his name is. I remember seeing a sign in his window, the last time we were in Denver, that he dealt in imported stones. I want to find something really special for a ring to mark our formal betrothal.” Sensing a certain amount of sceptical amusement on Curry’s part, Heyes added defensively, “Yeah, I know we haven’t set a date yet—not even a date for me to propose marriage to her properly, since that’s got to wait until we hear about our amnesty—but I’ve got the money now and I might not have it later. Might as well ask him, at least. Besides,” he continued, struck by an idea, “maybe you could find something that Miss O’More might like. Needn’t be a ring.”

“I might. We’re gettin’ on all right, but it’s a little previous to be looking for a ring or anything like that.”

“You know more about that than I do,” replied Heyes. “Come along and look, anyway.”

“I intend to.”

In Mr. I. Haberl’s establishment, Heyes explained that he wanted something very unusual in the way of a ring to commemorate a betrothal, for a very unusual lady. 

“I know garnets are traditional, but it would be like every other lady’s ring, wouldn’t it? Besides, I don’t think she’s fond of red, even though it would probably look stunning on her. I noticed that you deal in imported stones—I thought maybe you could suggest something.”

“Ah, I see.” The jeweller thought for a moment. “Do you know, Mr. Smith, I believe I may have just the thing.” He spread a piece of black velvet across the counter top, opened a box which he took from a locked drawer behind the counter, and spread the contents across the velvet, where they lay sparkling in the light from the lamps on one side and the sunlight from the window on the other. Pushing aside some of the other gems, he rested a finger just below a stone which flashed a deep cinnamon color in the light, as if a fire was burning at its heart.

Heyes stared at the little piece of sunshine and flame. “I’ve never seen anything like that. What is it?”

“It is a garnet, just not a red one. These are called cinnamon or flame garnets, and the best of them, including this one here, are being found in Africa.” Haberl said no more, letting the beauty of the stone speak for itself.

Strongly drawn to the unusual gem, Heyes still hesitated for a moment. Then he spotted two smaller stones which appeared to be the same color as the larger one, and could possibly be set into a pair of earrings. That decided him. 

“I’ll take it. You’ll have to set it in a ring for me—I’ve got one here that’s the size you’ll need. And what about setting these two into a pair of earrings?”

“Certainly, that could be done. An excellent choice, Mr. Smith.”

The transaction was concluded with Heyes making a selection of the gold solitaire setting he wanted, paying the jeweller for the three pieces, and giving the address of the C Bar W, care of Paul A. Wellington, as a place where he could be contacted.

“Remind me to tell Wellington that I might be getting letters or telegraphs there, and he should go ahead and open everything. He’ll have to let the telegrapher know as well,” Heyes said as he and Kid left the premises. “You didn’t see anything you liked?”

“I saw two or three things, but I think they’d better wait. I’ll have to think about it some more, what she might like. She loved the turquoise and silver bracelet I sent her from Texas; at least, I think she did.”

“I’d say so. You got a nice pair of socks out of it.”

Curry looked at his partner in some exasperation. “That’s not the point. Besides, I don’t hear you complainin’ about the socks _you_ got.”

Having successfully got a rise out of him, Heyes made no reply. Since they had agreed to meet the Wellingtons at the Colorado Central platform that evening to take the train for Golden, they were at loose ends for the afternoon. Knowing there might not be an opportunity to play poker in Golden, where there was not such a numerous temporary population, and having already spent the money he had set aside for buying Paula a ring, so there was no risk of losing it in an unlucky hand, Heyes suggested that they should find a game and try to increase their stake. Winning some extra money would be as good a way to celebrate Kid’s birthday as any he could think of.

**Golden, Colorado, Sunday, March 6th**

Astor House Hotel, built 1867

Over breakfast at the Astor House Hotel, Paul commented, “I found out there are seven churches in this town, most dating from when it was the territorial capital. Land for two of them was donated by Mr. Loveland, who’s part owner of the Colorado Central. The wood carving at Calvary Episcopal Church, where we’re going, is supposed to be very fine indeed. You’re certain the two of you don’t mind accompanying us?”

“No, we’d have slept in if we minded. You know we often go to church with you.” Heyes didn’t add that the main reason, for him, was to please the lady he had chosen to marry by participating with her in an activity that was very clearly important to her. “I did want to ask you something, though.” He looked from one to the other. “I know Catholics have to go to their own church, but you two aren’t Catholic. And there’s a small church group in Estes Park that meets in the hall over the post office—we went there the Sunday after we arrived at the ranch. Why do you come down from the Park once a month to go to an Episcopal church?”

The Wellingtons looked at each other, and Paul drew out his watch to consult it. “That’s the sort of question that needs to be asked when we’ve a lot more time to answer it, and I’m not sure…” He hesitated. “The thing is, the answer will require a good deal of preliminary explanation.”

“Maybe not to me,” Kid answered. “My adopted folks—Mama and Daddy Burnett—they were Episcopalian. I attended with them for three years, until I left when I was seventeen to try to find Heyes.”

“Try us,” Heyes suggested. He was doubtful of his ability to follow what promised to be a theological discussion of some kind, but he enjoyed adding to his store of knowledge whenever possible. Besides, he wanted to know what made it so important to Paula. And he wasn’t going to admit that his cousin might know more than he did.

For her part, Paula was glad that her brother was present to at least make a beginning of explaining some of their Christian beliefs and practices to Heyes. She loved the former outlaw leader, and naturally she hoped and prayed that some day he would share her faith, but there was a considerable risk that if she herself were to try answering such questions as the one he had just asked, he would attempt to convert, or pretend to do so, merely in order to please her—which would be for altogether the wrong reason.

Well aware of his sister’s dilemma, Wellington thought over his reply carefully. “In some ways, it is similar to the reason that Catholics have for being obliged to attend their own church at regular intervals. As Anglicans—that is, Episcopalians living in England and belonging to the Church of England—we were taught that when we follow the command of Jesus given at the Lord’s Supper to take, eat, and drink His Body and His Blood, we are doing exactly what He said. It is not a symbol, nor merely a service of remembrance, even though Christ also said that we were to do it ‘in remembrance’ of Him. We believe, therefore, that we have to receive Holy Communion from the hands of a minister who believes that as well, and has the authority to give us Christ’s Body and Blood.” He paused, frowning. “I’m over-simplifying, of course—wars have been fought over what those verses mean—but I think this will do for a start. As you said, we’re not Catholic, so we cannot receive Holy Communion in their churches, but our father was part of a movement, at the University of Oxford, which believed that the Church founded by Jesus Christ existed in three branches: the Roman Catholics, the Anglican Catholics, and the Orthodox, or Eastern Catholics. The word ‘catholic’ means ‘according to the whole’ in Greek, and was originally applied by the early Christians to the body of all believers. So we can receive the Body and Blood of Christ in any Anglican or Episcopal church.”

He stopped, glancing at Paula to see if she had anything to add, but she simply nodded approvingly and said nothing, so he went on, “We were taught that Christians have somewhat lost the understanding of how important the reception of Holy Communion was to the early Church. Not to say there is anything wrong with the preaching of the Word of God—one can never have too much of that—but Jesus himself placed a great deal of emphasis on our following His example in the Lord’s Supper. So that’s why we try to do so at least once each month. And here, in the West, where churches are often few and far between, most Episcopal clergymen will permit any baptized Christian to receive Holy Communion in their churches. It’s not that way in the East, or in England, but I can understand why they do it here.”

Curry was nodding slowly. He didn’t understand all of what Wellington had said, but much of it sounded familiar, agreeing with what he had been taught when he had lived in Arkansas with the Burnetts. It was one of the reasons he had formed the habit, while they were still in Devil’s Hole, of riding to Casper to attend Episcopal services at Christmas, and occasionally on some of the other major Christian holidays. He had never been able to explain to Heyes why it was important for him to do that. He just knew that he had to do it.[1]

Still thoughtfully absorbing the explanation, Heyes did not speak, but he, too, remembered his partner’s excursions to Casper in their outlaw days, when he would ride one hundred and fifty miles in three days, heedless of the weather and the danger of being spotted by someone who knew him. He exchanged glances with Kid. _Yes, he’s thinking of those rides as well_. While everyone donned hats and coats, he stepped to one side of the breakfast room with his partner. “I didn’t know that about all baptized Christians being allowed to take communion in an Episcopal church. Is that why you went to Casper all those times, to the Episcopal church there? So you could take communion?”

“Neither did I, but even if I had known, Heyes, I wouldn’t have taken communion at the church in Casper. While I was robbin’ banks and trains for a living? It wouldn’t be right. Besides, I’m not sure I was ever baptized. My folks were Methodists—they should have had it done when I was a baby, but I don’t know if they did or not. And I bet you don’t know what your folks did either.”

Heyes realized Kid was right. Aloud, he said, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t plannin’ on taking it this morning. Like you said, it wouldn’t be right. There’s no sense offending God, and maybe the minister, in some kind of misguided effort to please Paula. And I’m not sure she’d be pleased. No, I’m not gonna ask her,” he added quickly, to forestall any comment his cousin might make. But Curry said nothing, only nodded.

In spite of their lingering over breakfast to conclude the discussion on the reception of the Lord’s Supper, the party managed to leave in good time to get to the church at 1300 Arapahoe Street, before services began at a quarter to eleven. 

Calvary Episcopal Church, Golden, Colorado, built 1868

The distance was a little over three city blocks, so as the weather was fine and sunny, if a little chilly, and they had observed that the boardwalks were clean and dry, they decided to walk, Wellington and Curry leading the way and Heyes following with Paula on his arm.

After church, they discovered that a pot-luck meal was being served by the ladies of the church. Assured that they were more than welcome, they followed the crowd down the steps into the parish hall, situated on the ground floor under the church proper, and found an array of tempting dishes, to which they did full justice.

They had been inside the church building and out of sight of any plain glass windows for almost two hours, so when they emerged into the street, all the ladies were somewhat dismayed to find that Golden had been visited by an early spring snow storm: wet, heavy snow was coming down, drifting on the boardwalks and turning the streets into mud. Here and there, some of the hardwood trees were already shedding overburdened limbs and branches, which were breaking and coming down into the streets and onto the boardwalks complete with loads of snow and wet leaves. 

Spring snow, Colorado, with broken tree limbs

Most of the congregation had buggies or wagons, but a few church-goers, including the Wellington party, were faced with the prospect of walking. Heyes looked at the mud and the wet boardwalks and turned to his betrothed in concern. “Should I try to get a buggy or at least saddle up one of the horses? You’re going to get that dress dirty otherwise.”

“Oh, no, darling. Thank you so much for being thoughtful and making the offer, but that would be far too much trouble and take too much time. I shall just hold my skirts up carefully, and attend to whatever cleaning might be necessary later. At least I have riding boots on, so there will be no need to worry about mud splashing my dress boots and stockings.” She laid her hand on his arm, gathered up her skirt firmly with the other hand, and professed herself ready to start.

Starting out on her right, Heyes dropped behind her, as he had been taught to do at the Home for Waywards but had never had much opportunity to put into practice, and took up his position on her left as they crossed Arapahoe Street, putting the traffic on their left side.[2] She would thus be protected from the worst of the mud thrown up by carriages in the street. As they crossed to the south side of 12th Avenue three blocks farther south, he crossed behind her again to come up on her right side for the final half block, with the result that when they stepped through the door of the Astor House, the hem of Paula’s skirt was wet, but there were very few marks of mud on it.

She smiled up at him as he took her wet coat. “Thank you, dear.”

Since there was very little to do on a Sunday afternoon, even in a town the size of the former territorial capital, the four of them settled down in the public lounge area attached to the lobby to read and converse. If they had been able to hire a private parlor, they could have played a couple of hands of whist, but on Sunday, in a public place, Heyes knew they couldn’t risk having a deck of cards out where it could be observed and possibly occasion remark. After going up to her room to change her dress, Paula rejoined them with some hand work in a bag. 

As anxious to get to their destination as he was, Heyes realized that this time, even if the trains had been running on a Sunday, he would not have left sooner. He was not looking forward to leaving Paula. They had been in one another’s company almost constantly since early November. It was going to be difficult to leave her behind.

**Monday, March 7th**

Just after dawn, Heyes returned to the hotel after saddling his horse and Kid’s and bringing them from the livery stable. They had asked the hotel to provide all of them with an early breakfast so they could catch the train which left for Central City at half-past six.

“I brought our horses around. All we have to do is throw our saddlebags on the saddles and we’re set. It’s only a mile to the train station.”

“We should go with you,” protested Paula. 

“No, there’s no need for you to get cold and wet again, or to make Prudence and your mare do unnecessary work.” Paul had left his saddle horse in Boulder to await his return, so Prudence was able to double as a mount for him during his visit to the Denver area. Heyes smiled at Paula and took her hands. “We’d better say our farewells here, where it’s warm.” He drew her to one side. After a quick glance around revealed no one in the dining room except the four of them, he bent swiftly to kiss her. “Good-bye, sweetheart. I’ll see you in about a month. And I’ll wire you when we get there, and once a week after that, just to let you know how we’re getting along and when we can get down to Denver.”

She clung to him for a moment, all of her reserve laid aside at the prospect of parting. He kissed her again. Firmly, then, she gave him a little push. “You’d better hurry or you’ll miss that train. Good-bye, my dearest.”

* * *

[1] See the story “In the Bleak Midwinter,” by R. K. MacBride, which takes place on Christmas Eve, 1877. <https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849483>

[2] A polite manœuver which a well-brought-up man was taught to execute when walking with a lady. The custom continued to be observed into the 1960s, but subsequently seems to have lapsed into disuse.


	9. The Richest Square Mile on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking jobs in a hard-rock gold mine in Central City, Colorado-- known as the "richest square mile on earth" because of the abundance of gold found in the area -- Heyes and Curry encounter rather more excitement and danger than they had anticipated.

Swinging up into the saddle, Hannibal Heyes pulled his hat down against the few wet snowflakes still coming down, being driven into their faces by a cold north wind, and nudged his mare with his heel. He felt a trifle dizzy. Even after being promised for a whole five weeks, he still was not accustomed to being addressed as ‘dearest’, as Paula had done when they parted a few minutes earlier.

“Doin’ all right?” asked Kid.

“Yeah. And I guess she’ll be O.K. She didn’t take it as hard as I was afraid she would.”

“There were tears in her eyes,” his partner observed. “I saw that when she turned her head away after telling you good-bye. She just didn’t want you to know.”

Heyes made a heroic effort to change the subject. “Just think of all the money we’re going to be making.”

“And all the hard work we’re gonna have to do to earn it. You know, Heyes, money ain’t everything. I’m not so sure I’m looking forward to workin’ in a mine, with deep shafts and tunnels.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna mention it. Probably it won’t matter much. Like you said, it’s good money.”

After loading their horses into the stock car attached to the train, the two outlaws took their seats in one of the carriages. Since there were no women on board whose comfort had to be considered, they chose seats as close as possible to the wood stove at the front. The snow storm had brought a mass of cold, damp air with it, driven by the north wind, and they had gotten thoroughly chilled during the short ride from the hotel.

Heyes wished for another cup of hot coffee, but there was no way to carry a hot drink with them from the hotel, and the track up to Central City twisted and turned sufficiently that the conductor would probably not try to make coffee in a pot on top of the wood stove as was often done. Maybe he would, thought Heyes hopefully; meanwhile, they could hope for some when they got where they were going.

He thought about what Kid had said, about working in a deep hard-rock mine. Asking his partner to talk about his discomfort would help to conceal his own increasing unhappiness at parting from his lady. He didn’t want Kid to know how bad it was, and it was temporary, after all.

“Kid?”

“Mmm?”

“You think working down in a mine is really gonna bother you?”

“After what happened in Telluride last fall, yeah, I think it might.[1] I don’t really like goin’ underground at the best of times, and after bein’ tied up in a mine tunnel for days, without a coat or much food, I don’t much like to be reminded. But this won’t be the same mine, and nobody’ll be tyin’ me up.”

“I suppose,” Heyes mused, “I could have asked Wellington to pay us more than he was doin’, and we could have stayed at the ranch longer. Safe, beautiful scenery, good food, good company, nice work.”

“Yeah, and he probably would have given us more if you’d asked, but that’s not right, Heyes. You ain’t married to her yet. You heard Lennox say he wasn’t gettin’ paid as much as this mine job is offering, and he must be gettin’ foreman’s wages.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t ask. I do have a little bit of sense, Kid. I told Wellington I wasn’t marrying Paula for her money, and he said that was probably a good thing, because most of their money was walking around on the hoof. They do have some money in London, but it’s all tied up in a trust—that’s what he told me, anyway. And from what Paula told me, the way the trust is set up, the man who marries her doesn’t automatically get control of the money. Means her father was pretty careful of her. That’s why I thought we should take this mine job.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.” After watching, with pleasure, as the conductor filled a coffee pot with water from a jug beside his seat at the front of the car, added a basket of ground coffee, and placed the pot on the wood stove to perk, Kid turned back to look at his partner. “Heyes?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I figured out another reason you wanted to go somewhere else to find work.”

Heyes looked at him sharply. If there was a good reason other than their needing the money, he couldn’t think of one.

“I think you wanted to get away from her for a while. To find out if it was real, if you love her as much as you thought.” Getting no response, Curry went on. “That’s it, isn’t it? Are you still sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sure. You don’t think I would have spent all that money on that ring and the matching earrings if I wasn’t, do you?” Heyes was indignant, but couldn’t resist trying to make light of the question.

“No, I don’t guess so,” replied his cousin. “Come on, Heyes, I’m serious.”

Heyes nodded. After a long pause, during which he watched the snow-covered trees and rocks passing by through the window, he turned his head to look his cousin in the eye. “So am I, Kid. I don’t know how or when we’re ever gonna work it out, to get this amnesty, so Paula and I can get married, but I know that’s what I want. Like I said, I’m sure.” Digging a tin cup out of his saddlebags, he went to the front of the car to see how the coffee was coming along.

*** *** ***

> CENTRAL CITY COLO 1100AM MAR 7 1881
> 
> MISS PAULA WELLINGTON 
> 
> ALVORD HOUSE HOTEL
> 
> DENVER COLO
> 
> ARRIVED THIS MORNING STOP GOT THE JOBS START WORK TOMORROW STOP SETTLED IN BOARDING HOUSE ON LAWRENCE ST STOP RESPECTFULLY
> 
> JOSHUA SMITH CENTRAL CITY COLO 1057AM

In the lobby of the Alvord House Hotel, Miss Wellington folded up the telegraph with a sigh. They were earning good money and they were happy. Heyes was keeping in touch as he had promised. She ought to be pleased for them. But already she missed him so much that it was like a physical ache. It was amazing what a difference the five weeks of their informal betrothal had made. She had never given her emotional well-being into any man’s keeping, wishing to preserve her independence of mind and spirit. And now, here she was, sighing like a love-sick schoolgirl. _Well, if he is the man God has for me, as Ellen believes, he will be back. It will be all right. All I have to do is find something to keep me busy_. With that, she put on a bonnet and coat and went out into Larimer Street to look at the shops and to try to discover the location of the new lending library that she had read about.

Two hours later, she returned to the hotel. The lending library had proved to be only a rumour—the city was hoping to found such an institution, but had not yet done so. On the other hand, she had found a new hat which would suit for wearing to church on Easter Sunday, wherever she might be at that time. Easter was not until the 17th of April. A lot might happen in the intervening six weeks.

*** *** ***

By the end of their first week of work, Heyes and Kid had discovered that they had both been right. The twenty-five dollars that they had each been paid for the week was far more than they would receive at most other comparable jobs, but they were both already tired of the work, which was hard and dangerous. The location where they were working, at the head of a tunnel being newly constructed to follow the vein of gold-bearing quartz which had been found, was not particularly safe in spite of the conscientious mine company’s efforts to make it so, with the part of the tunnel ahead of them always unshored-up until some courageous workmen went in to set the first beams. And Heyes had worn out two pairs of leather gloves in an effort, so far successful, to retain the sensitivity in his fingertips which was part of his stock-in-trade at the poker table. They definitely needed to find a different kind of work. Both were determined, however, to stick it out for at least the month that Heyes had mentioned to Paula. They couldn’t have her thinking that they had gone soft, after all. And the hundred dollars apiece that they expected to earn during that time would be useful.

*** *** ***

> CENTRAL CITY COLO 552PM MAR 12 1881
> 
> MISS PAULA WELLINGTON 
> 
> ALVORD HOUSE HOTEL
> 
> DENVER COLO
> 
> WORK AS GOOD AS WE HOPED STOP MINING CO VERY CONCERNED ABOUT SAFETY SO YOU NEEDNT BE STOP TRUST YOU ARE ENJOYING STAY IN DENVER STOP RESPECTFULLY
> 
> JOSHUA SMITH CENTRAL CITY COLO 549PM

Attempting to read between the lines of this remarkable missive, Miss Wellington wondered what was actually going on. She knew, of course, that Heyes was in the habit of concealing his thoughts by shifting his facial expression, more or less at will. It seemed to her as if he was trying to do the same thing in this telegraph—only it was not nearly as effective as in person. A little worried, she knelt down beside her bed and prayed for his safety, and Kid’s.

**Central City, Thursday, March 17th**

Under low gray skies, Heyes and Curry queued up at the top of the shaft to await their turn to descend in the miners’ cage. It had room for nine men if they stood in three rows, shoulder to shoulder, each man’s chest pressed to the back of the man in front. From the look of things, the little mining town, precariously perched on the side of a steep mountain, was about to be visited with some fairly severe weather. One advantage to working in a mine was that such storms were generally over by the time they returned to the surface at the end of the shift.

“This is another advantage to working down here,” said Heyes cheerfully as they took their mid-shift meal break, sitting on benches to one side of the tracks leading into one of the completed crosscut tunnels. “We don’t have to go outside, get wet, and spend our own money finding something to eat!” The food was provided by the company and had been one of the points made in the advertisements for workers.

Curry made no reply, being engaged in chewing, or attempting to chew, the slice of dried meat on the tin plate he had been given. He wasn’t sure what animal the meat was from, nor how long it had been in a deceased condition, and had decided, early on, not to ask. It was edible, at any rate, once it had been masticated for a while. The bread, on the other hand, was fresh, though there wasn’t much of it. Apparently arrangements had been made with some of the women of the town to supply the mine with freshly baked loaves each day. A few of the women in the town earned additional money in other pursuits, but neither of the outlaws had even suggested investigating the local ‘female boarding house’, as its inhabitants called it. Their nightly poker games had been their only attempt to join in the social life of the town.

When the bell rang for the end of the meal break, the men turned in their tin plates and boarded an ore cart, pulled along the rails by a patient burro, to return to the rock face at the active end of the ‘Clara B’ crosscut, where they had been working. Some of the men joining them on the cart had just started their shift, and their clothes and boots were wet from the snow storm that they reported raging on the surface. The cousins exchanged glances. Once again, they were glad to be underground.

A few minutes later, they were not so sure. Kid’s energetically swung pick had unexpectedly broken through what had appeared to be a solid wall of rock, revealing an open chamber just beyond. The miners all stepped back, aware of the danger of bad air, but after a few minutes’ wait, the new opening appeared to be safe enough, and some of the men used their picks to widen it so that they could enter with lanterns and find out how far the chamber extended. If its walls were solid and it followed the quartz vein fairly closely, it would save them a good deal of trouble.

Lifting a lantern over his head, Heyes stepped through the opening. It was a tight fit, but he had gone through smaller spaces after using a bar spreader to defeat the iron bars on the windows of a bank he planned to rob. Curry followed, as did five other men. Heyes’s lantern clearly showed the gold ore and quartz sparkling along one wall. This new chamber had given them easy access to several days’ worth of the exposed quartz vein.

While the two outlaws were looking at the gold, which sparkled in the lantern light, only needing a few blows with a pick, or a well-placed charge of dynamite, to free it from the wall so it could be picked up and enjoyed, one of the other men exclaimed suddenly. Every man turned to see what was going on. The miner, his lantern held so as to expose the walls and roof above the opening they had entered by, was pointing upward. Where they had expected to see a rocky roof shutting them in, instead there was visible a long crevice extending upward, shining with moisture. There was no daylight to be seen above, so apparently the crevice did not reach all the way to the surface, but the water was a puzzle. This was a dry mine—no underground streams or anything of that nature—so the water dripping down the wall had to be coming from somewhere on the surface of the mountainside.

Kid walked over to the wall, now streaming wet, the water collecting in a puddle on the floor of the chamber. He held up his hand, trying to detect a current of air which would tell them that there was an outlet to the chamber that reached all the way to the surface, even though they could see nothing, but there was no air moving. “I don’t feel any air currents,” he observed. “But if this goes all the way up, the management’ll want to know about it. They could sink another shaft here and save time and trouble getting to this vein.”

Suddenly, from above and to one side, they heard a grinding, rumbling sound. One of the men, who had been a tin miner in Cornwall, in a much wetter climate, yelled an alarm and sprang for the opening. He was just in time, squeezing through and disappearing from their sight, before the whole rock wall above the opening seemed to start moving. Men who had been crowding forward to follow the Cornishman sprang back to avoid the cascade of granite and quartz that slid down, closing the opening so that no lights held by the men on the other side could be seen.

There was a long silence. Then Heyes said, in a tone of quiet confidence, “Well, they know we’re here. They’ll reach us soon enough. And everything seems solid enough now.” He raised his lantern to examine the new rock scar above where they had come in. As he had said, there were no further signs of an impending slide. “But since we couldn’t detect any air currents …” he stopped and turned to face the five other men trapped with him, “I suggest we put out these lanterns. Now. The flames will use up what air is left in here, and we’re gonna need it to breathe, while we wait for them to dig us out.” 

The other miners looked at each other. The authority in Heyes’s voice had its effect. Reluctantly, all the men nodded. They opened the slides on their lanterns and blew out the flames, until only Heyes’s light was left. He walked over to the wall opposite the now-blocked opening, where the ground was dry and clear of rubble. Sitting down with his back against the wall, he waited until Kid and the others had joined him before blowing out his own lantern and leaving them all in pitch blackness. “Now we wait,” he said, with more calm than he was feeling, but knowing how important it was to keep the men from panicking.

As they waited, the men talked quietly, about anything except gold mining. Heyes resisted the temptation to re-light his lantern so he could look at his watch, knowing it was probably better not to keep track of how long they had been trapped, or how long they might have to wait before help came. For a long time, they could hear nothing except their own voices and the sound of each man’s breathing. One of the men talked of his girl, back home in Kansas, waiting for him to make enough money to bring her out West to join him so they could get married. Heyes contributed the information that he had just become betrothed recently himself. It wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t want to go into an explanation about the promise arrangement, as that might lead someone to ask _why_ he couldn’t just ask the girl to marry him outright. 

Kid started to tell them about Miss O’More and how he had met her the previous autumn, but realized that story was likely to lead to problems as well. And the last thing he wanted to do was to talk about being imprisoned in a mine in the dark. Instead, he began to sing, at first softly, and then a little louder, choosing songs that the other men might know, like ‘Buffalo Gal’ and ‘Do Like I Do’. Everybody joined in. One of the other men started with ‘I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad’; when that was finished, another, an Irishman by his accent, began a different song about railroad work. No one else happened to know it, so they listened while he sang it through and then began to repeat it so they could learn the words.

In eighteen hundred and forty-one  
I put my corduroy breeches on.   
I put my corduroy breeches on   
To work upon the railway. 

Chorus: Fil-i-me-oo-ree-eye-ri-ay  
Fil-i-me-oo-ree-eye-ri-ay  
Fil-i-me-oo-ree-eye-ri-ay   
To work upon the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-two   
I left the Old World for the New.   
I left the Old World for the New.   
To work upon the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-three   
‘Twas then that I met sweet Biddy McGee.   
And an illygant wife she's been to me   
While working on the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-four   
I travelled the land from shore to shore,   
I travelled the land from shore to shore   
To work upon the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-five   
I found myself more dead than alive.   
I found myself more dead than alive   
From working on the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-six,  
The gang pelted me with stones and bricks.  
Oh, I was in a hell of a fix,  
While workin' on the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-seven   
Sweet Biddy McGee she went to heaven;   
If she left one kid she left eleven,   
To work upon the railway. 

In eighteen hundred and forty-eight  
I learned to take my whiskey straight  
’Tis an illygant drink and can’t be bate  
For working on the railway.

The song was long, with the lilting chorus repeated after every verse, and the Irishman told them there were even more verses that he couldn’t remember. They began again. Then one of the men interrupted. “Listen!”

Faintly, from the direction of the blocked opening, they could hear the blows of picks against the rock, swung by willing hands. 

“It won’t be too long now,” said Heyes reassuringly. “Let’s finish that song. I want to learn it. My cousin here and I have ancestors who lived in Ireland.” 

“Then it’s a good thing ye’re learnin’ this song,” replied the Irishman, “especially since today is St. Paddy’s Day.”

“What if they bring more rock down on us, tryin’ to break through?”

“Yeah.”

“I got claustrophobee.”

“We might all die in here,” said the first man, a note of panic in his voice.

“We’re not gonna die,” said Heyes, firmly. “And I don’t want to hear anything about claustrophobia, or whatever it is you think you got. They know where we are. The roof above us is solid granite—I saw it before we put out the lights. They’ll be through to us in next to no time. Now stop complaining and help us learn this song. What did you say it was called, Mick?”

“Paddy Works On the Railway.”

“Right. Let’s start at the beginning. Come on, or they’ll break through before we’ve finished singing it.”

Responding to his steady, confident voice, the men stopped shifting their positions and trying to speculate about how long it would take the rescue party to break through, and joined in once again, beginning with the year 1841.

In spite of his own nervousness, Kid was impressed, once again, with his partner’s ability to lead reluctant men, to make it sound like he knew what he was talking about and convince others to follow. He had a very good understanding of how to motivate men, even if he had to con them. Kid knew perfectly well that Heyes had no idea what the rock above them was composed of, though they had both been taught basic concepts of geology in their schooling. He had just told the men a convincing lie to calm them down.

By the time the song had reached the year 1848, the sound of the rescue party was becoming clearer. Just as they finished the chorus with ‘To work upon the railway’, they heard the sound of small rocks falling, and then, suddenly, they could see a light. Everyone held still for a moment, hardly daring to believe it. A voice called from beyond the break in the rock slide. “Everybody all right?”

“Sure are,” Heyes called back. “Six of us, and we’re all fine. We put out our lanterns to save the air. Can we help from this side?”

“Just give us some light and then stay back, so we don’t hit you with a pick,” responded one of the rescuers.

Heyes struck a match and lit his lantern, then held the flame for the others to light theirs.

*** *** ***

That evening, in their boarding house room, the two outlaws finally allowed the difficulties of the day to catch up with them. Kid sank into a chair with a low whistle.

“Yeah,” said Heyes. “That was kinda close.”

“Heyes, you didn’t know there was solid granite above us—did you?”

“No, but in this part of the Rockies, granite is usually what there is. I paid attention in school, Kid, even if you didn’t. I even learned the names of the different kinds of rocks, ’cause I thought they sounded interesting. I knew the other men needed to hear something reassuring, so I thought I’d schist take it for granite, what kind of rock there was up there.” Heyes grinned at his cousin and poured himself a drink from the bottle of brandy they’d treated themselves to after leaving the mine.

Curry stared at him for a few moments, trying to decide whether he had heard Heyes properly, and whether he was right in remembering that one of the kinds of rock they were supposed to be learning about, back at the School for Waywards, was called schist. Eventually he got up, poured himself some of the brandy, and refused comment. But the expression on his face was sufficient to tell Heyes his pun had made a hit.

In the morning, as the two men ate breakfast, Kid voiced what he had been thinking about off and on all night. “I don’t know about you, Heyes, but I’m not really all that anxious to go back to work today, or tomorrow, for that matter. Even to learn more verses of ‘Paddy Works on the Railway’.”

“If we don’t go back today, they might not pay us for the week. The deal was we have to put in a full week of work for that twenty-five dollars.”

“Yeah, I know. So we ride off without collecting our pay. We’ve had to do it before.”

“I suppose we could check the train schedules,” Heyes agreed. 

A few minutes later, at the train station, they looked at one another, nonplussed. The wet snow that had caused the partial cave-in at the mine had also resulted in at least two heavy slides in Clear Creek Canyon. The tracks were completely blocked until they could be cleared with a plow mounted on the front of the engine, supported by men with shovels.

“Well, we could stay here over the weekend, play some poker, then ride down to Idaho Springs. There’s a road that goes that way—Virginia Canyon, I think it’s called.” Heyes led the way to the telegraph office. “Then, if the tracks are cleared, we can take the train down to Denver. If not, we can ride—there’s a road through Mount Vernon Canyon. I’ll wire Paula and tell her we’ll meet her some time on Tuesday the twenty-second. Sound good?”

“Sure. And we can make up for that money, playing poker.”

As they walked back to the boarding house, a man dressed like a prosperous businessman came up to them in the street. To their surprise, they recognized Mr. Harrison, one of the owners of the mine where they had been working.

Heyes drew a breath to explain why they hadn’t shown up for work, but Harrison forestalled them. “Smith? Jones? Glad I found you. I guessed you wouldn’t be too eager to come in for work today, especially since it was almost eleven last night before the men could free you. I wanted to tell you, and the other four men who were trapped with you—the other partners and I have decided that the six of you should be paid for the entire week, and you won’t be expected to show up again until Monday. I have your money right here.” He counted out twenty-five dollars apiece. “And, Mr. Smith, I want to thank you personally for what you did, keeping those men calm and making sure there was no panic.”

“Thank you, sir, that’s very generous,” said Heyes. He pocketed the money, and then added, “But we’ve talked it over, my friend and I, and we decided that we aren’t really cut out to be miners, in spite of the good pay. We’re planning to ride down Virginia Canyon to Idaho Springs on Monday, and push on to Denver from there. I don’t know if you heard that Clear Creek Canyon is blocked by snow slides.”

“Yes, I did hear. We’ll be sorry to lose you—you’re both good workers. But I understand. Take care now. That Virginia Canyon road is pretty steep in places.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harrison,” responded Kid. “We’ve no intention of taking any more risks than we have to. That’s why we’re riding our horses this trip.”

* * *

[1] _q.v._ the first story in this series, “My Wild Irish Rose,” by R. K. MacBride, presently not yet posted on Archive of Our Own.


End file.
